Shadows
by Aegypt
Summary: A Prince of the Blood's relationship with an Adept of the Night Court. Rated M for obvious reasons. Slash, dominance/submission.
1. An Unmarqued Adept

Author's note: This is, quite shamelessly, a PWP I wrote for my own amusement, and decided to share. This is set about twenty years after the conclusion of Kushiel's Mercy, which should become obvious as you read. All credit for the setting, and what little backstory is mentioned, goes of course to Jacqueline Carey.

Word traveled fast in Valerian House. By the time I left the Dowayne's chamber to view the adepts she'd readied for me, I could tell the House was fair buzzing with excitement. The halls, normally discreetly empty, seemed inordinately busy, and every adept that passed shot me a daring glance under lowered eyelids, hoping they would catch the Prince's eye. I ignored them, striding down the marble-tiled hall, feeling the lust and challenge of their eyes on my back, and smiling to myself.

In the viewing room, Dianne had readied only one adept. The young man stood in the center of the room, eyes downcast, hands clasped behind him. He was shorter than I, slender but well-muscled, with dark hair that fell in a tangle of waves to his chin. I shot Dianne a glance; she only raised her eyebrows, and I approached the adept.

I could see his breath quicken as I came close. I stopped before him, placed the tip of my finger under his chin and lifted it. His eyes were a deep, deep blue, nearly black. "What is your name?" I asked softly.

He lifted his chin a bit on his own. "Michel, my lord."

"Do you know who I am?"

"You are the Prince Raniel, my lord," he breathed.

"Good boy." I traced the line of his jaw with my fingertip, watching him shiver in pleasure. "Is it your wish to take me as your first patron?"

His dark blue eyes flashed as he glanced at me, before turning his gaze to the floor once again. "Yes, my lord, if you will have me."

I smirked, and turned away abruptly. "He'll do," I said to Dianne. "You'll write up the details of the assignation and send him to the Shahrizai quarters as soon as possible?"

"Of course, your highness. Shall I arrange for a meal to await you there?"

"That will not be necessary, my lady Dowayne," I said. "I should like to visit Kushiel's shrine before the evening grows late." She nodded in agreement, and I let myself out of the viewing room, making my way toward the shrine.

----

When I entered the rooms that were reserved for the Shahrizai family's use, Michel was already there, kneeling, naked, in the center of the stone floor. I didn't know how long he'd been waiting. I paused inside the door, watching him, enjoying the obedient bent in the lines that composed his shape.

A sideways glance in the mirror told me what he would see: My mother's dark eyes, Cruithne eyes; and my father's waves of blue-black hair, half-scattered through with tiny braids, in an homage to both my Shahrizai ancestry and old tales of my foster-grandsire, Joscelin Verreuil. A body that was my own, well-formed and strengthened by hours of sword-training, clad in a simple but elegant shirt of white cambric, dark doeskin breeches, and tall boots of supple black leather that hugged my legs. I looked different here, somehow; confident and dangerous. I smiled a little, knowing that was exactly what the adepts of Valerian House wanted to see.

The terms of the assignation had been written on a parchment and laid on the table behind Michel. I strode to the table, ignoring him, and scanned the contract, finding no surprises. A bottle of fine Namarrese wine had been set on the table; I poured myself a glass, enjoying making the kneeling adept wait.

I took a sip of the wine -Elua, it was good!- and walked unhurriedly back to Michel, stopping behind him. The muscles in his shoulders tensed, as if he expected me to hit him from behind. I let him wait a little longer while I sipped my wine and gazed at his slender back, bare of any marque.

"Do you know why I wanted a new adept, Michel?" I asked finally. My voice sounded startlingly loud in the otherwise silent room.

"No, my lord," he replied, rather automatically. I frowned.

"Surely you must have some idea, some guess. You may voice it; I would hear your thoughts."

He hesitated. "When a patron specifically requests an untried adept, it is usually because he or she intends to embarrass Valerian House." A note of proud defiance crept into his voice. "And that is always the only aspect of the assignation that disappoints them, my lord."

I chuckled, dropping one hand to stroke his hair. "Well said," I praised him. "And very... diplomatic. Have no fear, Michel; I know for a fact that Valerian House never has cause for embarrassment from its members, be they the youngest unmarqued adept or the Dowayne herself." My own voice grew deeper as I spoke, until I hardly recognized it. Michel leaned into my hand, and a shudder ran through him at my words. Ah, Elua! My slow-burning desire suddenly threatened to overwhelm me, and I drew in a long breath to calm myself.

"Why, then? If I may ask, my lord," he dared to ask.

I truly didn't know, myself. It had been a whim, at first, an idle fantasy- and for what was the Night Court, if not the indulgence of fantasy? But truly _why_? I was not sure yet. "Perhaps I shall tell you when we are finished," I told him. I downed the rest of my wine and then clenched my fist in his hair, drawing his head back sharply. He drew in a startled breath as I bent down, bringing my lips to his ear. "In the meantime," I murmured in a low voice, "_You_ will not disappoint me in any aspect of this assignation, will you, Michel?"

"No, my lord," he whispered in a shaky voice.

I let him go and turned away, going to the cabinet that housed the flagellary. I set my wineglass down and perused the contents of the cabinet, settling on a slender, supple lash with a handle of pressed brown leather, finely made. There was little else I wanted, I realized; I was more interested in exercising dominance than inflicting pain, this time. I closed the cabinet and strode back to Michel, tapping the coils of the lash against my boot top.

"What is your _signale_?" I asked him, walking in a slow circle around his kneeling form. I could see his phallus growing hard, darkening with blood; it was gratifying to know he enjoyed our little mind-games as much as I did.

"Shadows, my lord." It matched the word in the written contract. I made another circuit around him.

"I want you to understand two things, Michel," I said, struggling to keep the desire under control. "The first is this: Tonight, I am more interested in the games of obedience and dominance than those of pain and violence." I followed the line of his jaw with the coiled whip. "Though I will indulge in them as well, a little." The whip slid under his chin, lifted his head to gaze up at me with his dark, dark blue eyes. "Is this acceptable to you?"

"Yes," he said simply, his voice tight with desire. A sudden vision of him sweating beneath me, gasping, burned itself against my eyelids. I pushed the fantasy away.

"Good." I made my voice go back to the dangerous one, the deeper one. "Then the second thing you will understand is this: You belong to me tonight, boy, and you will do whatever I tell you to do. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good boy," I said again. "Then you may start by pleasing me where you are, on your knees. Show me what manner of training Valerian House provides its adepts, Michel."

He moved to obey at once, rising onto his knees and sliding his hands up the slick leather boots that hugged my thighs. He unfastened my breeches with deft fingers and freed my aching phallus, drawing it into his mouth without hesitation. Elua, it felt good! His mouth was hot and wet, and though he lacked some of the practiced grace of an experienced adept, he made up for it in enthusiasm. The thought that I was his first was a goad to my pleasure, as well. I stood motionless, with the whip in one hand and my other hand in his hair, gazing down and watching him perform the _languisement_ with my lips parted. I forced myself not to move, not even to guide him, until the end, when I clenched my fist around his hair and held him hard to me as I climaxed.

I let him go, then, stepping away and re-fastening my breeches. There was a certain sense of power to be found in remaining fully clothed while he was nude, and I was enjoying it. There would be time to undress later.

"Stand up," I said harshly, and he did. I bent my head and kissed him, roughly, bruising my lips against his, forcing my tongue into his mouth, tasting my own seed. He responded eagerly, pliant in my arms, and let out a soft moan. I deepened the kiss, and he moved involuntarily, thrusting against me, grinding his erection against my hip.

I smiled inwardly, even as I jerked away, wrapping my hand around his throat. "You dare to think of your own pleasure, Michel? To try and take it from me, without my permission?"

His eyes widened. "My lord-"

"I shall have to punish you for that, boy," I said, in a menacing voice. I brought the coiled whip up to caress his cheek again, then trailed it down across his chest, his abdomen, and lower. "Are you ready?"

He shivered. "Yes, my lord."

I shoved him away. "Then go," I said, sending him stumbling toward the X-shaped whipping cross that stood across the room. He went with alacrity, positioning his front against the wooden beams. I followed more slowly, tucking the lash under my arm and fastening his wrists and ankles to the cross.

He jerked and drew in a hissing breath when the first blow of the lash fell across his back. It opened a long, red weal across his shoulders. I stepped forward to press my lips against it, feeling the flesh already growing hot. "Remember your _signale_, Michel," I breathed in his ear. "Do not hesitate to use it if need be." He nodded wordlessly, eyes shut tight, and I backed away, plying the whip again, and again.

It went on for a long time; I didn't hit him often, but drew it out deliciously, goading his desire and mine. I would stop to drag my tongue along the welts I left on his flesh, feeling him squirm, or I would press my hips against his backside with slow, unhurried thrusts, teasing him with a taste of what was to come. Once I wrapped the lash about his neck, drawing his head back, and whispered all the unspeakable things I wished to do to him. I could see him grit his teeth against desire then, and I smiled to myself.

When I'd had enough, I tossed the whip aside and went to loose him from the cross. His back was shuddering like a fly-stung horse. I wanted to see that slender, muscled back, marked by my hand alone, writhing under me as I had my way with him. I forced myself to patience, and control, and pulled him away from the cross. "Sit on the bed," I ordered, and followed him there.

To his surprise, I sat on the edge next to him. "Lie back." He did, gingerly, and I laid my hand on his bare thigh. He flinched. His phallus was still ready, hard and thick, nearly brushing against his abdomen. I wanted, very badly, to touch him, and indulged myself, trailing my fingertips up his thigh, across his abdomen, and down his other thigh. "Tell me," I said softly, drawing a line with my fingertip from the base of his rigid phallus to its tip, watching him tremble at the woefully inadequate contact. "Does the training for adepts include any... practical application of skills?"

"N-No, my lord," he replied breathlessly. "We are never touched."

"What a pity," I said, in a sympathetic voice. I bent and pressed my lips to his hip, circling my finger around the tip of his phallus as I did so. "So no one has ever performed the _languisement_ upon you, as you did for me so skillfully?"

"No," he whispered, almost a plea.

I moved, reversing the path of my finger, and made as if to kiss him, pausing with my lips hovering over his tip. I glanced up at him, let my breath ghost over his skin as I asked, "What do you want, Michel?"

He made a half-strangled sound, staring down at me with wide eyes. "You, my lord."

I smiled up at him, a predatory smile. "On your stomach."

He let out a moan of frustration, nearly inaudible, and rolled obediently onto his stomach. I moved to straddle his legs, running my hands up the backs of his thighs, grasping his buttocks. "How badly do you want this, Michel?" I asked quietly, kneading at his firm flesh. "Badly enough to beg?"

"Elua, yes, my lord! Please!" He replied immediately, writhing under my touch. I swatted at him; the sound was a loud _crack_ in the quiet room.

"Lie still," I ordered him. "And beg, boy. Plead for what you want, and perhaps I'll have mercy on you."

He did, his voice strained under the desire that wracked him; he begged and pleaded desperately, while my hands roamed his back and thighs. I was fully aroused once more, hard enough that it ached, and the abject submission in his pleas only drove my desire farther. _Soon, soon_, I told myself.

When I'd had enough of his pleas, I lay over him, stretching my entire length along his, pressing my hips against his backside and kissing his neck lightly. He went absolutely still, though I could feel him trembling faintly. "Mmm... very good, boy," I murmured, running my tongue along the ridge of his ear and smiling as it made him shiver. "You've done well, and I'm minded to give you your wish." I rocked my hips against his buttocks, thrusting my still-clothed phallus against him. "But there is one thing to attend, first. Lie still and keep quiet."

He nodded wordlessly against the sheets, and I left him there, going to the flagellary and pulling out the small jar of ointment. It was a formula well-known to Valerian and Mandrake Houses, and served two purposes, making it ideal for the Night Court. I set it on the edge of the bed and undressed myself, letting my clothes fall where they would.

Michel was breathing raggedly when I approached him from behind. "On your hands and knees," I ordered him, and he shifted to obey, tensing in anticipation of what he imagined was to come. He twitched in surprise when I began to smear the ointment on his lash-marks instead.

I smiled, watching him endure wordlessly, head drooping, as I tended to each weal with careful precision. The stuff stung like fury when applied to open sores, I knew, and his back would feel afire by the time I'd finished.

He bore it without complaining, remembering my last injunction to keep quiet. When the last welt had been cared for, I swiped more ointment onto my fingers and used it to draw a slick trail from the end of his spine to the cleft of his buttocks. "Now," I breathed, my voice rasping, "You will not finish until I tell you to, do you understand, Michel?" I slid my finger into him without warning, and he gasped aloud, jerking his head upward.

"I- understand..."

"You forget to whom you speak, boy," I said, putting menace into my voice and thrusting a second finger into him. "I will ask you again: do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord!"

"Good." I withdrew, watching him shudder a little, and applied the ointment to myself, slathering it over my phallus and mingling it with the fluid that had already leaked from its tip. I positioned myself behind him, kneeling on the bed, and fit the tip of my phallus against his entrance.

I thought about asking him if he were ready, and thought better of it; it was obvious that he was just as ready as I. Instead, I gazed at him a moment longer, taking my time.

"This will hurt, boy," I said simply, and pushed myself into him.

He drew in a hissing breath as the tip of my phallus entered him. Gods, he was hot, and tight, squeezing tightly around me... I waited a moment, then pushed forward again, burying another inch inside him. "There, boy, yes," I breathed. "A little more, every inch... This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, my lord!" He gasped out, as I closed the remaining distance, filling him as deeply as I could, my hips pressed against his buttocks. I paused there, letting both of us adjust before I began to move again.

I was gentler with him than was my wont. Somehow, I felt almost protective- an absurd notion, to be sure. He bore it well, obeying my command to remain still while I held his hips and moved back and forth, in and out with slow, hard strokes. There was something about knowing that I was the first man to take him this way, knowing that he was completely under my control and that his first true impressions of Naamah's service would be formed by me, that threatened to send me over the precipice of desire if I dwelt upon it for too long. So instead, I didn't dwell on it, but only moved, slowly and rhythmically, digging my fingertips into his flesh.

I don't remember when he started to beg, to plead for release. It goaded me, and I had to fight back the urge to move more quickly, to drive myself into him without mercy. I let him go on for a moment before I leaned forward, laying across his back and seizing a handful of his hair, pulling his head back. "Quiet," I snarled, and he fell silent but for the hitch in his breathing each time I thrust into him. I reached down and grasped his wrist, waiting for him to readjust his balance before guiding his hand to his own phallus.

"Touch yourself, boy," I ordered him breathlessly, in a low voice. "And do not stop until I tell you to spend."

He let out a low moan and obeyed, taking himself in hand. I rose back up and resumed my slow, teasing rhythm, watching my own thick phallus easing in and out of his body. I couldn't see his hand, but I watched the muscles in his shoulder working, and knew that he moved in tandem with my own thrusts.

He didn't last long before he began to beg again, shuddering all over with the effort of restraining himself. I leaned forward again and pulled his head back once more. "Didn't I order you to be silent?" I hissed, punctuating the words with a sharp, deep thrust that surprised him.

"Please-" he whispered brokenly. I smiled, a twist of my lips, and brought my free hand around to grasp his phallus, wrapping around his fingers as well.

"Now, boy," I ordered, thrusting forward hard and clenching my hand around him.

He spent himself with a wordless cry, quivering beneath me as he spilled his seed across the bed. "Good boy," I praised him, and raised back up, resuming my earlier pace. I didn't wait for him to recover. "You're lucky, Michel," I said, breathless with the effort of speaking. "Not many patrons will choose to let you find your pleasure before they find their own. Now, put your head down."

He did, his arms folded under his head, so that only his backside was raised up, still taking my phallus in leisurely thrusts. Only then did I permit myself to lose control; I drove into him hard, ignoring his cries of pain. If he had spoken his _signale_, I would have heard it and stopped immediately; but he did not, and his prostests merely incited my desire further. I no longer cared about his pleasure, only mine, and ah, Elua, it was good to give myself over to the hunger that burned within me. Over and over, I slammed the entire length of my phallus into him, as deeply as I could, hard and fast. "Who do you belong to, boy?" I demanded at the end, my voice grating tightly in my throat.

"You, my lord!" He cried, and I let out a gasp, thrusting forward once more, hard, and holding his hips immobile as I spent myself inside him.


	2. Unity, Moonlight, Shadows

Author's note: Another completely gratuitous night at Valerian House. This is M/F/M, and continues the dominance/submission theme, but it's a bit more intense. It appears to be noncon, though it truly isn't. If this bothers you, don't read it. Credit of course to Jacqueline Carey for settings.

As before, I paused just inside the entrance to the Shahrizai chambers to appraise the adepts who awaited me. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the door, gathering details. The three of them were clothed, today, and they knelt in a row at the center of the room. On the right was a young man named Nátan, an adept who had nearly completed his marque. His light auburn hair fell in a fine curtain that shadowed half his face; the rest of it was flung artfully over his shoulder. He wore a robe of thin black cloth, barely opaque.

Next to him, in the center, knelt Selena. She was a fairly young adept, younger than Nátan, with golden hair that brushed her shoulders. She wore a white robe, similar to Nátan's, though it was barely long enough to reach her thighs. I had never had her before, but Didier had advised me that she enjoyed goading her patrons in order to provoke rough treatment. She sat demurely enough now, though, hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the floor.

At her side was Michel, wearing a loose, off-white breeches and a shirt of pale blue cloth that made his eyes shine with a deeper hue than I remembered. His feet were bare. I gazed at him for a long moment, realizing he could easily become a favorite of mine. He looked vulnerable, kneeling there, his face shadowed by the unruly dark curls that framed it.

I approached them, stopping before Nátan and bending to tilt his chin up. His eyes met mine, a fiery hazel, and I knew he was eager to see what torments the grandson of Melisande Shahrizai was capable of. "Your _signale_, Nátan?" I asked quietly.

"Unity, my lord." The same as was stated in the contract that Didier had reviewed with me. I made a note of it, and let him go, moving toward Selena.

"Moonlight, my lord," she said in a throaty voice before I asked, casting a quick glance up at me. I caught a flash of pale green eyes before she looked away. Oh, I would enjoy teaching this one her place. I eyed her expressionlessly for a long moment before moving on without a word.

Michel twitched when I touched his cheek lightly, and looked up at me. "Michel," I said, allowing a touch of warmth into my voice. "Yours is the same as our last encounter?"

"Yes, my lord," he breathed. "Shadows."

I nodded and let him go. _Unity, moonlight, shadows._ "I am bound by contract to ask once more of you," I addressed all three, "you have no objections to entering this assignation with one another?"

"No, my lord," they murmured. I turned back to Michel, stroking his hair before tilting his head back. "Do you remember what pleases me, Michel?"

When he confirmed that he did, I let him go. "Good. Explain it to them." I strode away and poured myself a glass of wine, then sat and propped my booted feet up on the table. Michel spoke softly, explaining that though Prince Raniel was consummately skilled in the infliction of pain, he most enjoyed exerting control over his adepts, which could take many forms, not simply those that resulted in...injuries.

I smiled at that, watching him. He had prospered well since I'd last seen him, judging from what of his marque was visible through his thin shirt. The generous patron-gift I'd left him after taking his virginity had been enough to cover a full quarter of his marque, but now the twisting vines of Valerian House reached halfway up his spine. Once word was passed that he was good enough for the Dauphin, well, I supposed patrons were clamoring for the opportunity to rend his sweet flesh, and pay handsomely for it.

Briefly, I wondered what Dianne would say if I offered to purchase Michel's marque, and keep him with me at the Palace. I would pay him handsomely, of course, so that he could continue to make his marque in my service, but the thought of binding him to me alone was tempting.

When he'd finished, I asked them, "Is this acceptable?"

They murmured their assent, and I set aside the wineglass. "Good," I said, and pointed at Selena. "You. Come here."

She rose with alacrity and obeyed, standing before me. I reached up and pulled loose the tie from her robe, parting it and gazing at the body it revealed. Her nipples were stiff and pink; I cupped one breast in my hand, twisting a nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

She shivered under my touch. I twisted my lips in a humorless smile, and brought my feet to the floor, spreading my knees and indicating with a silent nod where I wanted her. She moved to kneel before me, her hands reaching for my breeches without being told. I tolerated it, growing harder under her touch. When my phallus came free of my clothing, she clenched her hand around it and moved to perform the _languisement_. I stopped her with a fist tangled in her hair, and leaned forward. "You do what _I_ tell you to do, little girl," I hissed. "Understand?"

With a spark of arousal in her wide, pale-green eyes, she nodded. I let her go and pushed the robe from her shoulders. Turning her away roughly, I used the robe's ties to bind her wrists together at her back. When I was finished, I turned her back to face me, caught another handful of her golden hair and pulled her forward. "Now," I told her, guiding her to me. Elua! Her mouth was soft and wet, silken heat around my aching phallus. I handled her roughly, forcing her head down until her nose met my abdomen and I could feel her throat convulsing in protest.

I glanced over at the others; they still knelt, showing me their profiles. They were not looking at Selena and I, but they could certainly hear what occured, and I could see both of them growing aroused. "You," I snapped, making both of them look over to see who I addressed. I ignored Michel and met Nátan's fiery hazel eyes over his head. "Come here."

He obeyed, and as an afterthought, I jerked my chin at Michel. "You too, boy."

Selena's mouth still worked on my flesh, awkwardly without the use of her hands to balance herself. I gestured at Nátan to stand behind her. "Take her," I said roughly. "Do it hard."

As Nátan let his robe fall and knelt behind her, his muscles gleaming in the candlelight, Selena made a sound of protest in her throat, humming around my phallus, and pulled away. "No-"

I tightened my grip on her hair before she could get very far. "You defy me, girl?" I asked in a low voice, feeling a chill run through her. "Do you forget so soon, that you do what I command? This is your punishment for your earlier insolence; if you refuse me further, I will find a way to discipline you that you _truly_ will not enjoy. Is that what you want?"

She shook her head mutely. Tears shone in her green eyes, but she did not say the word that would have halted me. I brought up my other hand and caressed her cheek gently. "If you wish to give the _signale_," I told her, "simply make a sound, and I will release you. Otherwise, keep silent and endure your punishment."

She nodded, and I drew her back to me, biting back a groan as her mouth enveloped me once more, then nodded at Nátan.

Following my command, he took her roughly, gripping her hips and thrusting deep into her at once. She gasped around me, but made no cry, and Nátan picked up a rhythm, driving hard against her.

I let a low growl escape my throat, approving, and leaned back in my chair. Michel was standing nearby, waiting for instruction, his eyes on the three of us. I snapped my fingers and pointed wordlessly at the ground; he came obediently to kneel where I'd indicated, close enough that I could stroke his hair.

Nátan was looking down at himself, where he slid into Selena's body, his muscles working with each sharp thrust. "Good, Nátan," I murmured. "Keep going. Harder." He obeyed, and I watched appreciatively, reaching for my wineglass. He was well-made enough, and moved well enough, that I might have considered taking Selena's place. Not tonight, though.

I bent forward, threading my fingers through the girl's hair and holding her hard against me. "Are you learning your place yet, girl?" I asked softly. "_This_ is your place, on your knees with my phallus in your mouth and another man's between your thighs. Your place is where _I_ say it is." She trembled a little under my hand. Nátan groaned a little, barely audibly, and began to move more urgently. Close, so close, both of us were. He met my eyes briefly, pleading, and I nodded at him. He closed his eyes and moved faster, crashing into her with a sound of flesh against flesh. Every thrust made her body rock forward, and the three of us caught a new rhythm, driven by Nátan. I could feel the tide of desire rising inevitably within me.

I glanced aside at Michel; his dark blue eyes watched us unabashedly, the pupils dark with arousal. I pulled him closer and kissed him, hard. His mouth tasted better than I'd remembered; hot and firm and yielding. He moaned into my mouth, and I was undone, spilling my seed into Selena. I held her in place around my softening phallus until Nátan had finished, spending himself with a groan. He and she came together; her back arched and she shook against me, breath rasping in her throat with the effort of keeping silent.

I let her go then, her and Michel both. "Get up," I told them. I rose and pushed past them, refastening my breeches. Nátan stood behind Selena, catching his breath; he was of a height with me. I stepped close and kissed him, slowly but with authority, taking control of his mouth with my tongue. He was willing and pliant in my arms.

"You did well, Nátan," I said softly, tucking a strand of his auburn hair behind his ear gently. "I'm minded to reward you. Would you like that?"

"Yes, my lord..."

"Go to the whipping cross." I let him go, and he went obediently, standing with his back to the cross and waiting.

"And _you_," I said harshly, turning to Selena. She stood with her head down, hands still bound behind her back. "Your punishment is just beginning, girl. Go over there and wait, on your knees."

She murmured acknowledgement and moved away, kneeling a short distance from Nátan. I strode toward the flagellary, turning back as if it were an afterthought. "You stay there, boy," I ordered Michel, not waiting for his response.

From the flagellary, I selected a leather flogger, a long-handled instrument with several long cords trailing from it, and a length of black silk cloth. I tucked the flogger under my arm and went to Nátan. "Now," I said, fastening the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, leaving him standing spreadeagled against the X-shaped cross. "Is this what you want, Nátan?" I caressed his chest with the end of the flogger, trailing the lengths of braided leather over his skin.

"Yes, my lord!" He gasped. He was half-aroused again, already, his phallus twitching.

"Why?" I asked, shutting all trace of sensousness out of my voice. I was genuinely curious, and I wanted a sincere answer. "Tell me truly, Nátan."

He met my eyes boldly. "I want to see what the Prince of Terre D'Ange is capable of, my lord."

_Fair enough_. "Hmm," I said, feeling my lips curve in a cruel smile. I set the flogger aside and stretched the length of silk in my hands. "An honest answer. I will be glad to show you what I am capable of, adept, but you will not _see_ any of it." I blindfolded him with the cloth, wrapping it over his eyes gently and jerking the knot tight behind his head.

I stepped back and let the first blow of the flogger fall without warning; it snapped across his chest with a loud _crack_, and Selena twitched in surprise. Nátan jerked in his bonds, his lips parting in a sigh. The welt that rose across his flesh stirred my desire once again, and I continued. There was no sense of tenderness, as there had been with Michel; I made him hurt, and he welcomed it, pleading for more.

Eventually I tired of it, and tossed the flogger onto a table. I glanced at Selena; she knelt with her hands still bound behind her, her breasts heaving with the deep breath of desire. She met my gaze boldly, and I strode to her in two quick steps, seizing her arm and pulling her toward Nátan. "Here, girl," I murmured, forcing her to kneel again, in front of him. "It's his turn to feel that sweet mouth of yours." I tangled my fingers in her hair and pushed her head forward; she opened her mouth obediently and began the _languisement_.

Nátan tensed, letting out a sharp breath at the contact. I smiled, watching his rigid phallus slide slowly between Selena's lips. With my hand still on her head, I leaned foward and kissed Nátan, firmly and thorougly before pulling back. "You've been very good, Nátan," I murmured, and slipped my free hand behind his head to loose his blindfold. "Enjoy this gift I give you, but not too much. I'm not finished with you yet. And you will do nothing of your own accord until I tell you."

He blinked in the dim light as the cloth fell away. "Aye, my lord," he whispered breathlessly.

I crouched beside Selena, my hand still on her head, guiding her movements as she continued. "And you," I hissed, letting a touch of malice into my voice, "Are you learning your place yet, girl? I can do whatever I want with you, even give you to another while I simply watch. Are you learning your lesson, now?"

She made a whimpered sound of acknowledgement. "Keep going," I whispered hoarsely. "Do not stop until he is finished." Without waiting for a reply, I let her go and stood abruptly, returning to the table and pouring another glass of wine. Behind me, I could hear Nátan's soft groans, could feel Michel's eyes on my back. I smiled to myself and drank.

When I turned around, Michel had his eyes properly downcast. "Come," I commanded softly, and he obeyed. His deep blue eyes were almost black, the pupils swollen with desire. "My lord-" he breathed.

"Silence," I ordered, and kissed him. I could feel the burning tension in his body, and it matched my own... Elua, I wanted to throw him onto the bed and ravage him; he wanted the same thing, his skin was aflame with the want of it. But he was young, and had relatively little of the experience with self-control that I had. I could see the fault-lines in him, a dubious gift of my father's, and I knew just how good it could be if I played the game right.

I pulled away from the kiss, grasped his hips and turned him around, his back to me. "Look at them, boy," I breathed against the side of his neck, stepping close enough to press my erection against his hip. I slid one hand around to rub his phallus through his trousers, making him jerk in my arms. "Aren't they beautiful? Both of them bent to my will, just like you are. Aren't you, Michel?"

"Yes, my lord!" His voice trembled.

I held him immobile with one hand on his hip, rocking my body against him; my other hand continued its ministrations. He was hard as steel beneath the breeches he wore, and I desperately wanted to release him from the confines of his clothing, feel that silky-smooth skin against mine. _Soon, soon_, I told myself.

I kissed his earlobe, ran the tip of my tongue along the ridges of his ear, making him shudder. "Watch him, boy," I rasped. "I ordered him to wait. See how he obeys, though she works him with all the skill she knows?"

"Yes, my lord..."

"That is the sort of control I require of the adepts who service me. Do you have this control, boy?"

There was a quiet note of anxiety in his voice when he answered, "No, my lord."

Across the room, Nátan's eyes met mine, a desperate pleading gaze. I held it, grasping Michel's hips with both hands and thrusting against him, hard. "I will teach you, then, boy," I whispered, and nodded at Nátan.

The other adept obeyed, climaxing with a groaning gasp, straining against his bonds. I didn't watch; I had sunk my teeth into Michel's neck, marking him with a lovebite that made him tremble in my arms.

Silence fell in the room, broken only by the ragged breath of its four occupants, only one of whom had been satisfied. Reluctantly, I made myself let go of Michel, knowing it was necessary to the deeper game I hoped to play. I left him there as if forgotten, and strode to the whipping cross. Obedient to my last command, Selena still worked on her knees, making Nátan grimace in pleasurable discomfort. I pulled her away roughly, hauled her to her feet and turned her around. "Will you control your hands now, girl? Because I am not done with you yet, and I would rather put them to good use."

"Yes, my lord," she whispered through swollen lips, and I untied her wrists, shoved her toward the bed. "Wait there," I ordered, and turned back to Nátan .

"Well done," I told him. "Your control is admirable... but I am not yet finished with you, either." I gestured at Michel, who came obediently and knelt beside Nátan. I left both of them where they were and strode to the bed, stripping off my shirt as I did so.

Wordlessly, I indicated where Selena should go, oriented so that I could still see the others with glance to the side. I ignored them, though, and sat on the edge of the bed to unlace my boots and trousers.

Selena watched me unabashedly; I let her do it, turning to face her when I'd undressed completely. "Now, little girl," I said, kneeling at her feet and sliding a hand up the inside of her leg. "I will give you what you want, if you will be obedient." I reached up and cupped her breast in my hand. "Will you obey your master, girl?"

"Ye-es," she whispered. I brought my hand down to the juncture of her thighs, wetting my fingers in the moisture there and stroking myself with it. "Who am I, little girl?" I asked, leaning forward to set myself against her flesh.

"You are my master," she breathed, eyes wide in apprehension. I smiled, pressing forward, teasing her with the tip of my phallus.

"And what are you?" I asked.

"I am yours, master- oh!" she cried out as I sank deep inside of her. Elua, she was wet, and hotter than Camael's forge. Hers was not the body I wanted to plunder, but it would do. "Good girl," I breathed, and talked no more for a time, only thrust in and out, bringing her swiftly to a peak. When she trembled in my arms, gasping with near-climax, I slowed, ignoring her pleas for release. I turned and looked at the other two adepts, both of whom were watching intently. Nátan was ready again, his phallus standing erect and swollen against his stomach.

"Untie him, boy," I ordered, and Michel moved to obey. Selena, catching an idea of what was coming, began to whimper beneath me. I smiled down at her, letting a little cruelty color it. "You have been a good girl," I told her, almost tenderly, punctuating my words with a sharp thrust that made her gasp. "But you are still owed punishment, and the time has come. Tell me again, who you belong to."

"You, my lord," she whimpered. I rolled onto my side, taking her with me, and reached around to spread the moisture of her body at her nether orifice with a fingertip.

"And you will do whatever I tell you to do, won't you?" I asked, watching as Michel and Nátan approached the bed.

"Yes.."

I turned my attention to her face, brought my hand to her breast. "Then you will not complain when I order Nátan to take you again, and share you with me, will you?"

"No, my lord," she whimpered, though tears glittered in her eyes.

I glanced up and met Nátan's eyes, nodded at him. He knelt behind Selena and lay on his side, fitting himself at her backside and thrusting into her sharply. She cried out, and I silenced her with a rough kiss.

When Nátan filled her completely, leaving her shuddering around me, I rolled again, trapping him beneath both her and me. Selena gasped out a cry of pain at the shift, and I saw the hesitation in Nátan's eyes.

"Don't stop, Nátan," I snarled, thrusting into her. "Gods, I can _feel_ you... do not stop..." It was true; with her inner walls between us, I could feel his phallus grinding against mine with each thrust.

It went on for some time, and it was delicious, having that abject flesh between the two of us, helpless and moaning. I glanced at Michel, saw him watching us with eyes that glittered fever-bright. No... he was watching _me_, his eyes fixed on my body. When he realized I was looking back, he bit his lip and made an abortive, pleading gesture toward the bed. "My lord-"

I froze, staring at him. Caught in the rhythm, the other two moved for a moment before realizing something was wrong. "What is it, Michel?" I asked, in a voice that said if there wasn't some emergency, he would deeply regret interrupting.

Realizing his error, he swallowed, hesitating. "My lord... is there nothing that _I_ may do to please you?"

Inwardly, I smiled, knowing that he was truly mine, now. Outwardly, I let a cool calm descend, and pulled sharply away from Selena, making her and Nátan gasp at the loss. Michel eyed me nervously as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and leaned forward, close enough to feel the heat of his body against my lips. "You wish release?" I asked him, in a low voice.

His eyes widened. "No, my lord! I only... I wish to please you, my lord, but that is all-"

I knew it for a lie, or at least a half-lie; he may have had my pleasure in mind, but it was not the only reason he could not contain his frustration. "You disappoint me, Michel," I said softly, and he flinched visibly. I lifted the hem of his shirt, unfastened his breeches. "Did I not already explain the control that my adepts must possess?"

"Yes," he breathed, and the word was drawn into a hissing exhalation as I freed his phallus from the confines of his breeches. Gods, he was so perfect, solid and thick.... I wanted to take him in my mouth, swallow every inch of him into myself while he whimpered helplessly above me. Instead, I leaned back to watch him. I thought about having him take my place with Selena and Nátan; and then I realized that I didn't want anyone else touching him.

Laughing at myself inwardly, I shifted to the side, folding my legs under me and glancing back at the other two adepts, who waited with trembling patience for permission to move. "Keep going," I told them, and they obeyed, quickly returning to their desperate moans of a moment before.

Michel knelt before me, waiting, his breath shallow. I folded my hands in my lap, away from my erection. "I have already shown you the control I require, boy... but perhaps that was not enough. I find it necessary to provide an example of my own. Watch them, boy, and pleasure yourself while I show you the control I possess."

With the realization that I wasn't going to touch him, a look of disappointment flashed across his face, but he obeyed, taking himself in hand. I watched, gritting my teeth as my own desire flared. Gods, I wanted to possess _him_, to throw him down and take him in every way imaginable before allowing him to do the same to me. _Patience_, I counseled myself. _The reward shall be that much greater for the effort expended_.

Beside me, Nátan and Selena still coupled with quiet abandon, but I had eyes only for Michel. "Look at me, boy," I murmured, my voice tight. "Do you see how badly I want you? I watch you kneeling there, with your own phallus in your hand and that look of abject pleasure on your features, and I want only to bend you backward and plant every inch of myself inside you."

His movements became jerky, erratic, at my words. "Please, my lord-"

I chuckled, though it took an effort, and leaned forward to brush a curly strand of hair from his eyes. "No, boy," I told him. "No, because I have control, and I am teaching you what that means. Watch me, and maybe you shall understand." I sat there, my hands placid in my lap, belying the raging need that burned between my thighs. Michel groaned softly, his eyes flickering from me to the others. I waited, with clenched jaw, refusing to give in, knowing the impression I would make on the young adept with this demonstration.

The three of them finished at nearly the same time, Michel a little later than the others, spilling his seed onto the stone floor with a shuddering moan. I drew in a deep breath, feeling a little relieved with the weight of their combined urgencies abated. I stood and gestured for the three of them to do the same.

"You have served well, and I am pleased with the work of Naamah and Kushiel that you have rendered to me this evening," I said formally. The three of them glanced at each other. "You are dismissed," I added, before they could say anything. "I shall see that a proper patron-gift is sent to each of you."

More glances, but it was Michel who spoke, doggedly refusing to give up. "My lord-?"

"Yes?" I asked, knowing what was coming.

He hesitated, made a helpless gesture at my still-erect phallus. "It... it is not seemly that a patron go away from Valerian House so... unsatisfied, my lord. Is there nothing I may do, to-"

"No," I cut him off, and stepped closer, buttoning his breeches and arranging his mussed shirt. "You have displeased me this night, Michel-" _so harsh_, I thought ruefully, _but it is what is needed_. "-and I think you have a lesson to meditate upon before I have need of your services."

He looked crestfallen, and the expression pulled at my conscience. I hardened my resolve, letting my gaze pass over Selena and fix on Nátan. "But you are correct, and I have no desire to needlessly tarnish the name of Valerian House by leaving prematurely. Nátan, you have been the only adept tonight to obey every whim, every desire of mine without question, and I wish to reward you. If the night's activities have not been too taxing for you, you may stay behind."

Michel twitched as if I had slapped him. Nátan nodded, with a glint in his eye. No fool, that one; he knew the game I played. "I would be honored, my lord."

I nodded, and waved the others away. "You may go."

They went, and I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling suddenly weary despite the desire that still throbbed within me. Nátan waited for the door to shut behind them before approaching me. "What will you, my lord?" He asked, kneeling and wrapping one hand around my phallus. Elua, it was good; that simple contact was intensified tenfold by the control I had exerted earlier. I let out a harsh breath, watching his hand move for a moment.

"No more games, Nátan," I said finally, weary of the power and obedience diversions. I reached for the small jar of ointment that sat on the bedside table. "Just you."

He followed my lead, standing over me, straddling my knees so I could prepare him for myself. "I think it is not _me _that you want, my lord, if you will permit me to say so," he murmured, lowering himself onto my lap.

The tip of my phallus pressed against his entrance. "You are very..." I pulled his hips down, entering him slowly. "...perceptive."

He eased himself lower, until he sat on my thighs, with my entire length buried in his heat. He was right; it wasn't him that I wanted to bury myself inside, but Elua! he felt good just the same. It wouldn't take long, I knew; I had no need of _control_ now. I lay back on the bed, gazing up at the adept as he moved over me.

"If my lord will also permit me to say," Nátan added, a little breathlessly, "He is like a fish on the hook, now; you need only reel him in."

A smile tugged at my lips. "You are correct," I said, bringing my hands to his hips and guiding his movements. "But, this moment, I praise Naamah with _you,_ and I will hear no more about it."

That pleased him; he smiled genuinely, and leaned foward to brace his hands on my chest, with his auburn hair falling in a silky curtain around his face. "As my lord wishes," he murmured.


	3. Unfinished Business

Thoughts of Michel were a constant distraction to me for some two weeks after the assignation with him and the others. I handled it well enough, and managed to keep myself occupied with a few visits to some other Houses of the Night Court. They were only too happy to have their turns hosting the Dauphin, and I daresay that I did not disappoint. The joy of Orchis House, and Alyssum's blushing modesty, were a pleasant change from my routine... And left me hungering even more to return to Valerian, and Michel. After a fortnight of waiting, I gauged that I had held off long enough to make my point. My family was to travel to Eisheth for the nuptials of the Lady of Marsilikos, and it would not do to go on such a journey with unfinished business left behind. The morning before our departure, I called upon the Dowayne of Valerian, Dianne, to arrange the assignation.

A hush seemed to fall over the already-subdued halls of the House as I arrived that evening. The Houses are known for their discretion, of course, but Adepts will gossip amongst themselves, and word had had ample time to spread since my last visit. The few I saw, as I strode to the Shahrizai quarters, cast knowing glances at me, desire and fear mingling to varying degrees in their eyes before they looked deferentially away. I ignored them.

As usual, Michel was waiting for me when I entered the room. He knelt, _abeyante_, hands folded demurely in his lap. He wore the clothes he knew I liked on him; the loose, fine white shirt, the dark breeches. His hair looked a bit longer, still a mass of loose, dark curls that fell just past his chin.

Unlike before, I didn't make him wait any longer. It had been too long already. I crossed the room in measured strides, stopping before him and reaching down to caress his face with my fingertips. I ran my thumb across his lips, only half seeing him. It was odd, the way he made me feel. I was the Dauphin, Prince Raniel of the Blood, well known for my widely varied but mostly commanding tastes, for my capacity for self-control... yet the sight of Michel nó Valerian kneeling at my feet was enough to break apart all those masks I wore, leaving me feeling... well, odd.

His lips parted, drawing my thumb into the wet heat of his mouth. My eyes heavy-lidded, I watched his suggestive movements and let a hint of a smile pull at my lips. "I've missed you, boy," I murmured.

His eyes flickered upwards, startled, a flash of desire-darkened cobalt. I withdrew my hand and gestured for him to stand.

"My lord has... missed me?" He asked, almost a whisper, as I began to undo the buttons that lined the front of his shirt.

"Yes," I allowed, parting the white cambric to expose his slender, muscled chest. My fingers traced a set of lines across his flesh, down to the waist of his breeches. "And you, Michel?"

"Ye-es," he admitted, breath hitching in his throat as I touched him. "I- feared you were displeased with me, my lord."

I didn't answer, refusing to confirm or deny his fear. Instead, I leaned forward and kissed him, seizing his hips and pulling him against me. I plundered his mouth, pressing his willing flesh against mine, feeling the both of us growing aroused. When I finally let him go long enough to draw breath, he gazed at me with eyes wide in wonder.

I brought my fingers to his lips in an echo of our earlier interaction. "You may finish what you began, boy," I told him, with a slow thrust of my hips against his. "And then, I believe you are owed punishment for your behavior when last we met."

He nodded once in acknowledgement, sinking immediately to his knees and performing the _languisement_ upon me. Afterward, when I had spent my seed, he took himself to the pommel horse, stripping off his clothing and waiting patiently while I perused the flagellary. I came away with a paddle made of thin, light wood, covered in dark leather and slit through the center. He eyed it as I approached, his breath coming more quickly.

I paused in front of him, staring expressionlessly, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably between us. He let out a trembling breath, eyes downcast, but did not speak.

"Do you know why I must punish you, Michel?" I asked finally, in a low voice.

"I..."

"You displeased me, at our last meeting. I do not come to Valerian House to have my desires _questioned, _boy."

"My lord-"

I slapped him, not hard, a casual backhand that jerked his head to the side, startling him more than anything else. "Be silent," I growled, through a wave of desire that nearly made the room seem to spin around me. I forced it down, clenching my fist around the leather-cased paddle, and took a deep breath.

"I enjoy my evenings with you, boy," I continued more calmly, reaching my free hand up to caress the cheek I had struck. "I enjoy teaching you to please me. But I will _not_-" I jerked a handful of his hair, forcing him to meet my eyes, "-allow such a breach of conduct to go unpunished. When you enter a contract with me, you are _mine_, boy. If I order you to stand aside, you will obey _without question_ until I tell you otherwise." I moved closer, nearly close enough to kiss him, drinking in the mixture of longing and anxiety on his expression. "And if it is not to your liking, you will speak your _signale _and be done with it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," he breathed, a little shakily. I let him go, shoving him roughly toward the pommel horse.

"We shall see," I murmured, and watched as he bent himself across the pommel horse without being told. His marque had advanced yet more since our last meeting; another two fingers' span or so of his back was inked in the twining sigil of Valerian house. I had expected more, though perhaps I shouldn't have. The D'Angeline peerage had noted he'd fallen out of favor with me, and their own favors had lessened considerably as a result. That was a sobering thought; I had no desire to ruin the boy's reputation, and I would have to be more cautious. I stepped forward, raising the paddle with a smile, confident that he would not let me down again.

He was trembling when I finished his punishment, his flesh red with marks from the paddle. I was ready again, as hard and swollen as he was. I dropped the paddle and walked around to the front of the pommel horse, sinking my fingers into the tight curls of his hair and pulling his head up. "I've given you ample time to meditate on the type of control I require, haven't I, boy?" I asked softly.

Unable to nod, with his neck craned uncomfortably to look up at me, Michel whispered, "Yes, my lord." His face was flushed, pupils large and dark.

I tightened my grip on his hair, making him wince. "I'm going to test you now," I murmured. My own voice was thick with desire. "You will control yourself, Michel, until I am finished with you. If you succeed, I shall reward you."

He licked his lips, concerned that he misunderstood my intentions. In these games of power and desire, where reward and punishment could seem one and the same, he had to be sure. "And if I fail, my lord?"

"If you fail," I said sternly, "I shall have no choice but to find another adept, with better control of himself, with whom to spend my evenings at Valerian House. Am I understood?"

Worry flickered across his face, followed by pride and determination as he rose to the challenge. "Yes, my lord," he said softly.

Abruptly, I let him go and strode purposefully back to my place behind him, unfastening my breeches with my smile tugging at my lips. It was a relief to release my straining phallus from my breeches, to slick the ointment across my skin. I stepped up behind him and ran my hands over his warm, reddened flesh.

He was tense as I fit myself against his entrance, but he made no sound, no hint at his _signale_. I drove into him hard, forcing him to accept me, and he groaned in pain, fingernails gouging into the wood of the pommel horse. That smile pulled harder at my mouth; I thrust again, sinking completely into him with a groan of my own. Elua, he was good... hot, tight fire clenched around my flesh, willingly enduring the pain I forced upon him. I dug my fingers into his hips and began to move, roughly, in and out, while he let out a cry.

It wasn't long before he adjusted to my presence, and his pained sounds gave way to moans of pleasure. Soon, he was writhing beneath me, gasping out desperate pleas for release. I stopped moving, managing not to tremble with the effort, feeling his pulse throbbing hotly around me. "Control, Michel," I reminded him quietly. He shuddered visibly before subduing himself with a shaky exhalation.

"No more reminders, boy," I warned him, and resumed my pace.

When I finally spent myself inside him, he was shaking with the effort of restraint, his breath coming shallowly and quickly, but he had passed the test. I waited a moment, catching my breath, watching the way sweat formed a glistening sheen across the muscles of his back. On impulse, I leaned forward, stretching my length along his body, dragging my tongue across his shoulder to taste the salt. "I'm proud of you, boy," I praised him, murmuring in his ear. "You did very well. It is time for your reward."

I pulled back abruptly, leaving his body quickly enough to surprise him, make him gasp at the loss. "Get up," I ordered, refastening my breeches. "Go to the bed."

He did, walking on shaky legs, and I followed, sitting on the edge, knees wide enough to accommodate him. He made as if to kneel on the floor before me, but I reached out and caught his wrist, drawing him closer. "Stand here," I told him, and he did, tantalizingly close, trembling with urgent need.

I smiled, circling a fingertip around the end of his rigid phallus. "Are you still as... untouched... as you were at our first meeting?" I asked softly.

"Yes, my lord," he managed to choke out, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

I felt my smile widen, drawing my fingertip down the underside of his length. "Good." I leaned forward and flicked the tip of my tongue over his skin, then drew him into my mouth.

"_Elua!" _he gasped out, shuddering. I pressed forward, taking as much as I could, while my hand slid around to his backside, pulling him closer. He stood motionless, only a fine trembling in his thighs betraying the urgency he was feeling. I pulled back, stilling my hands, and looked up at him.

"Your need for control is past, Michel," I told him. "This is... a gift, and it would please me if you enjoyed it to the fullest." Something unreadable flickered in his dark blue eyes. Without waiting for a reply, I resumed my ministrations. After a moment's hesitation, his fists unclenched, and his hands sank into my hair, not grasping, only... caressing. I worked him as well as I knew how, and it didn't take him long. When his breath began to come shorter, and his fingers tightened in my hair, I smiled inwardly, not needing his faint gasp of, "My lord..." to warn me. I slipped a fingertip inside him, surprising him, and he bucked forwards, spending himself with a strangled cry.

Tonguing a last drop of his seed from my lips, I leaned back, looking up at him. He swayed unsteadily, his eyes glazed with the aftermath of passion. I caught his wrist again, pulled him down to sit beside me. We sat in silence while his breathing calmed. "My lord," he began after a moment. "If I may ask a question..."

I raised an eyebrow. "Ask."

Still he hesitated, and met my eyes only after what seemed to be an internal struggle. "Is it- Would it be presumptuous if-" He stopped short, drew in a sharp breath, and kissed me.

His daring shocked me, and I didn't respond at first. Almost immediately he began to pull away, tensing worriedly. I caught the back of his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him thoroughly.

It was not the heated passion of our earlier kiss; it was deeper, slower, but filled with passion nonetheless... passion, and something else I could not name. It was more than enough to inflame my desire once again, and I wrapped my arm around his bare shoulders, embracing him as we kissed, my other hand stroking his cheek. After a moment, he did the same, brushing fingertips along my jawline in a tentative caress.

I wanted him again, badly... but I had already abused his body enough tonight. Adept of Valerian House or no, forcing myself on him again- or even asking his permission- would be needlessly cruel. I forced myself to break the kiss.

"I must go," I told him reluctantly. "I leave the City early tomorrow, and have yet to pack."

Thoughts flashed behind his blue eyes, and he hesitated, as if struggling to decide what should be voiced. His hand reached for my breeches as he opened his mouth to speak.

I caught his hand before he reached my aching phallus. "No," I told him softly, feeling oddly protective of him. "Have no fear, Michel: I will not dishonor you by sending for another adept again." I stood, willing my desire to subside, and smiled down at him. "You have done more than please me, tonight, and I will not ask for more than that."

He nodded, and I turned away, checking my reflection in a nearby mirror. It would not do for the Dauphin of Terre d'Ange to leave the Night Court looking like a fresh-tumbled farm hand.

"You are leaving the City, my lord?" Michel asked quietly. I met the reflection of his blue-eyed gaze in the mirror.

"Yes. A matter of state, a trip to Marsilikos for a few weeks' time."

His reflection nodded understanding and looked downward. I studied him in the mirror, reading the fault lines in him, knowing what he wanted, needed. The balance between us had shifted somewhat, with that kiss. Sweet as it had been, he was not comfortable with this new space between us. He needed reassurance that nothing had changed.

I spun abruptly on my heel, forcing my face into the pleasant courtier's mask I wore so well, the one Michel had first seen when I met him. I strode back to him, making my steps powerful, authoritative. "I trust that you will be available upon my return, boy?" I said, almost making it a statement instead of a question.

At the sudden power in my voice, he slid off the bed into the reflexive _abeyante_ position, hands folded in his lap. "Yes, my lord."

I bent down just enough to grasp his chin, roughly, and turn him up to meet my eyes. "Good," I said. "Because it will be a long journey- Too long for the Dauphin to go without."

_Now, where did that come from?_ I wondered silently, watching Michel's eyes widen at the implication that I would abstain until my return. I realized suddenly that that _was_ what I wanted. I didn't want to leave him behind, but if I had to, the promise of another held no appeal. _How very unlike me_.

Letting my lips twist in a half-amused smile, I tightened my grip on his jaw. "I will be very... hungry... on my return, boy. You had best be ready."

"I will, my lord," he whispered, unable to hide the sparkle that flared in his eyes. I stared at him for a moment longer before letting him go. Trying not to think too hard about my own feelings, I made my way to the Dowayne's office to pay the House fee and leave my patron-gift before heading back to the Palace.


	4. A Night at the Palace

The journey was several kinds of hell. All I wanted, all I could think of, was Michel. I turned down any number of eager serving girls and stable boys, even a few peers of the realm while quartered at Marsilikos. The thought of someone taking Michel's place was anything but a goad to my desire. I thought of him back in the City of Elua, taking patrons as they came to him, inking his marque bit by bit while I was not there to share him, and the thoughts alternated between angry and heartsick.

Finally, the accursed wedding of the Lady of Marsilikos was ended, and I managed to wait graciously for the week's festivities to abate and my family to depart. The journey home was even worse, seeming all the longer for my eagerness. When we finally reached the City walls, nothing would do but to enter in a royal procession, which took even longer and did not allow me a chance to slip away to the Night Court. Back at the palace, a myriad of matters awaited tending, but I made my personal steward wait while I bathed the travel-stains away, first.

Seated in the tub of hot water, I leaned back and closed my eyes. "My lord Dauphin," ventured Hubert, my steward. "There are several matters of-"

I held up a hand, cracking open one eye to look at his wrinkled face. "It can wait, good Hubert. Take care of something for me while I bathe, and I'll meet you in my sitting room when I've finished. We'll attend to everything on your list then, I promise you."

Hubert pressed his lips together disapprovingly, but said only, "Of course, your highness. What shall I-"

"Send a summons- You have a pen? Good, write this down: 'The Dauphin Raniel de la Courcel requests your presence at the Royal Palace this evening, after sundown, at your convenience.'"

Hubert's quill scratched against the paper, then stopped. "Who is the addressee?"

I closed my eyes again and smiled. "Adept Michel nó Valerian."

----

When the guards ushered him into my chambers, I was waiting for him in the sitting room, staring at a book without reading it. I stood when he entered, setting the book aside. He gazed about for a moment, until his eyes fell on me; then he ducked his head, but not before I saw the flash of a smile. "Welcome, Michel nó Valerian," I said, not hiding my own smile. "I am glad you've come."

He looked a little lost, and I took pity on him... It was almost unheard of for an Adept of the Night Court to be summoned to the palace by a member of the royal family, and perhaps even more so for an Adept with an unfinished marque. I approached him, drinking in the sight of him; he wore a loose shirt of dark grey, over dark breeches and boots. His hair fell in its usual mass of rich waves and curls, shadowing his face.

I stopped right before him, and sank my hand into the dark curls, not roughly, but firmly enough to pull his head back, tilt it up to me. "I've missed you, boy," I murmured, and kissed him. Elua, his mouth was sweet-- my three-week-old memories were no comparison to the reality. He kissed me back, but the rest of him remained motionless, letting me step closer and press my hips against his.

Finally, I drew back, releasing him. "So that there is understanding between us," I began, watching his glazed-over eyes struggle to focus on my words, "know that I do not take advantage of my position to cheat you, or Valerian House. If it is your wish to spend the night here, I will see that both you and your House receive generous compensation. And if it is not your wish, you are free to leave at any time."

At my last words, he flinched visibly. "No, my lord," he said softly. "I would stay, if you will have me."

My breath huffed out in a silent chuckle. _If you will have me_... as if it were in question. I held out a hand, and he took it willingly. "Come," I said, leading him into my bedchamber.

The guards knew better than to disturb me, but still I shut the door to my bedroom, wanting the intimacy it provided. Michel stood in the center of the space between door and bed, still looking a little lost. I came up behind him and slid my arms around his waist, pulling him back against my erect phallus. A tiny breath escaped him; I hugged my arms tighter, trapping him, and pressed my lips to the sensitive skin behind his earlobe.

Michel twitched in my arms, letting out a groan. "If you prefer a contract," I breathed into his ear, "I shall have one brought. But I think we shall have no need of it." I pressed forward again, and again, finding a slow rhythm to tease both of us while I spoke. "I have a thing in mind for tonight... There will be control, but no pain, not tonight. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Yes, my lord," he said, almost a whimper.

I smiled into his hair and released him. I walked around to his front, indulging in another lingering kiss before I began to work at the buttons on his shirt. Slowly, I undressed him, lingering over his boots, enjoying the slickness of the leather under my hands. When he stood naked, almost glistening in the candlelight, I stepped back to gaze at his beauty. He stood with eyes downcast, while I circled him, wanting to see every inch. Behind him, I paused, staring at his marque. It looked nearly the same as it had when last I'd seen him, twining up a little more than half of his spine. A bit had been added from my last patron-gift, but that was all. Either his patrons had been criminally stingy since I'd left, or...

"Your marque does not seem to have grown much," I observed, frowning. I brushed my fingertips against the unfinished lines, then trailed them lower, watching him tremble at my touch.

"Aye, my lord," he said softly. "I took no patrons in your absence."

"Why?" I asked bluntly, my fingers stilling against his skin.

He half-turned his head, not quite looking at me over his shoulder, and hesitated. "Control," he explained at length. "I thought- if my lord Raniel could refrain on his journey, then surely I could do the same until he returned. And you _did_ bid me to be ready for you, my lord," he added, with almost a smile in his voice.

Momentarily astonished, I couldn't hold back my own smile. Adepts could choose from among their patrons, of course; _Love as thou wilt_ applied even to courtesans. Perhaps _especially_ to courtesans. But I had never heard of an adept refusing _all_ patrons in favor of one. That was not how marques were made, nor freedom earned. That he had done this for me spoke volumes about the growing depth of feeling between us... and prompted me to revisit an old, idle fantasy that I quickly pushed away. This was neither the time nor place to ask him.

Taking my silence for disapproval, he risked a full glance over his shoulder. "Are you-"

I pressed my index finger against his lips, silencing him. "What I am," I began, then paused, wondering how best to fit it into words, "is.... honored, that you would do this thing, Michel."

The worried tension left his body, and his eyes crinkled at the edges, hiding another smile, but he said nothing, only flicked the tip of his tongue over my finger and then drew me into his mouth. Captivated, I let him suck on my fingertip, imagining that sweet mouth on different parts of my flesh.

After a moment, he drew away, turning around to face me and reaching a hand to the buttons of my shirt collar. I caught his wrist and pulled it away, turning it over to kiss the pulse fluttering between his tendons. "Not yet," I told him, glancing up to look him in the eye. "I'm not finished with you." Dropping my hands to his waist, I guided him back toward the bed, making him sit on its edge. I bent and performed the _languisement_ upon him, reveling in his taste and scent and feel while he buried caressing fingers in my hair and moaned. When I had him writhing in pleasure, his breath coming in short gasps, I stopped abruptly, pulling away with a wicked smile. He realized what I was doing, and let out a sound that was fraught with both frustration and anticipation.

My phallus was achingly hard, straining against my breeches, but it could wait a few moments longer. "Lie back," I indicated, and he shifted, his phallus straining skyward, until he leaned against the multitude of pillows, half sitting up and waiting.

I opened the drawer to my bedside table and pulled out the bindings I had stashed there: black cloth bands, strong enough to hold against a struggle, but not sharp like metal cuffs. Michel's breath caught at the sight of them, and he willingly raised his right wrist, a silent offering to me. I took it with the solemnity that seemed due, tying the binding securely around him, and then the bedpost.

I decided to forgo tying his ankles, knowing it would only hamper my own movements; I also decided to forgo the indignity of sprawling across him to tie the other wrist. I walked slowly around the foot of the bed, feeling his blue eyes on me. He watched contentedly, trusting, as I bound him in place. It was a heavy thing, this trust that he laid on my shoulders, and I wondered at the capacities of human nature, that could place such trust on a person who had caused them so much hurt in the past.

Reminded of that fact, I reached out to caress his cheek. "I know your _signale_," I told him. "Do not hesitate to use it if necessary, contract or no contract."

He nodded wordlessly, and I returned to the other side of the bed, replacing the unused bindings and pulling a jar of ointment from the drawer. After a moment's deliberation, I decided I didn't want to stop and undress later, so I began unbuttoning my shirt.

Michel's eyes fixed on me as I shed my clothing. I took my time, relishing the power I had over him. When I had finished, his gaze was caught on my rigid phallus, and his lower lip was caught between his teeth.

"What do you want, boy?" I asked quietly, moving closer. His gaze flickered up to my eyes and then down again, and he licked his lips. Taking that for an answer, I straddled his chest, taking myself in one hand and stroking the line of his jaw with the other.

"Is this what you want?" I asked again, nearly a whisper, leaning closer. He looked up at me unabashedly. "Yes, my lord, please," he begged, his breath ghosting across my erection.

I let my mouth quirk in a smile that was almost cruel, and let him draw me into himself. He let out a muffled groan as I eased my length into him. Gods, it was good, the weeks of longing driven to almost-release by the wet heat of his mouth. Fighting for self-control, I rocked against him gently, taking him slowly, so slowly...

"_Elua_," I breathed, after a moment. My hard-won control was not cooperating tonight; I would have to stop, or this blessed evening would be over before it had scarce begun. Carefully, I disengaged myself, leaning down to place a kiss on his lips instead. "Very good, boy," I praised him, then moved away before I could give in and force myself between his lips again.

Instead, I reached for the jar of ointment and knelt between his thighs. He drew his feet up, bending his knees to allow me better access. After his self-imposed abstinence, it took a bit more effort to ensure he was prepared. When I finally decided he was ready, we were both trembling, a little. "Please, my lord," he gasped, and I set aside the little jar before placing myself at his entrance. I looked up to watch his face as I slid into him, slowly but without pause; I watched his expression shift from need to ecstasy before finding a balance of both.

I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until I had sheathed myself completely inside him, and let out a breathless groan.

The adept bucked his hips against me, impatient with need. "No, Michel," I told him, almost tenderly, staring into his eyes. "Not yet." Reaching down, I slipped a hand under one of his knees, bringing it up nearly to his shoulder and leaning against it for support. He cried out at the change in angle, as it made me brush against his hidden pearl of Naamah, deep inside.

"Ah-h-h, there," I breathed. "More?"

"Elua, yes!"

I obliged him, pulling out just a bit before thrusting back inside. It was more of a rocking motion, slow and steady, driving both of us closer and closer to climax.

He forgot himself in the pleasure, letting out low moans and pleas, and I let him, enjoying the way his carefully trained voice of servitude came unstrung by passion. I made it last as long as I could, until he was writhing under me, begging frantically for release, his hands straining against the cloth bonds.

"Hush," I soothed, slowing my rhythm and reaching up to stroke his disheveled hair from his eyes.

"Please, my lord," he almost whimpered, desperately. I smiled that cruel smile again, watching his eyes widen at the sight of it. Leaning forward, not ceasing my slow, unhurried thrusts, I kissed him. Despite our combined urgency, it was almost gentle; a languid, sensuous kiss, echoing the pace of our lovemaking. My hair fell in a blue-black curtain between us, waves and scattered braids. When breath came short, I pulled back. "Soon, boy," I whispered against his lips. I let go of his leg, letting him bend it over my shoulder, and brought my hand behind his head, pulling him closer. As my other hand slipped down between us, I dropped my forehead to rest against his. Our breath mingled, gasped out with each slow thrust that pushed his body against the pillows, and it was more intimate than anything we'd done. Unable to wait any longer, I began to move faster, matching the pace to my hand that had clenched around his phallus.

"Now, Michel," I told him, and he spent himself between us with a strangled cry, back bowing off the bed, head thrown back. I sank my teeth into the exposed skin of his throat, hearing him cry out again, and then I followed him, gritting my teeth as the most exquisite climax I'd ever experienced came crashing through me. _"Elua!"_

It took several long moments before full awareness returned to me. Carefully, I disengaged myself from the tangle of limbs that we had become, while Michel watched me with sated blue eyes. "You are well?" I asked quietly, tucking a few curls behind his ear.

He nodded, tensing his wrists against the black bindings. I ignored it. "I know that it is not common practice for an adept to spend the entire night in the company of his patron," I said. "And I will not presume upon our arrangement to require it of you. But I will _ask_, Michel: Do you wish to stay the night here?"

His eyes sparkled adorably, and he smiled. "Yes."

"Good." I stood abruptly and shrugged into a silk robe, belting it around my waist as I left him bound to the bed. I went out to my sitting room, opened the door and gave the guard a message to be carried to the Dowayne of Valerian House. When I returned to my bedchamber, Michel had already fallen asleep, arms still outstretched toward the bedposts. I stared at him for a long time, drinking in the sight of him, helpless and innocent in sleep, bound to my bed.

He awoke when I poured water into the washbasin and used a damp cloth to cleanse his seed from his skin. He said nothing, only watched, while I dried him, then dropped my robe to the floor and repeated the process on myself.

"Again, my lord?" He asked in a drowsy murmur, as I climbed onto the bed beside him. I stared down at him, temptation trying to stir within. Our earlier activity had taken too much from me, however; I had nothing left to give that night.

"In the morning," I promised him, reaching up to untie his wrists. "Go to sleep, Michel."

He nodded, shifting himself deeper into the pillows and falling asleep almost immediately. I wrapped a possessive arm across his chest and pressed a kiss against his temple before sleep claimed me, as well.


	5. Anything You Ask

**Author's note: **I was trying _not_ to name the Mandrake House adept in this chapter Damien... it was the first name I thought of, and I decided against it because I think it's overused in a lot of fiction and wouldn't quite fit in this story. However, while I was looking for another choice in the French sections of some baby name websites, I learned that Damien means "to tame". I had to admit I wasn't likely to find a more pefect name for a member of Mandrake House. Anyways... as always, this is for mature readers only!

I had paid Dianne nó Valerian a ridiculous contract-fee for the night's request, but I knew it would be worth every cent as Michel was led into the Shahrizai quarters of the House. He was accompanied by the Mandrake adept I had paid for, a tall, slender young man whose features were hidden within the dark, hooded robe he wore. Michel moved with his familiar Night-Court-trained grace, but there was a measure of tension and fear in it. It wasn't something I was used to seeing; he'd become too comfortable with me for that. I was a known danger, so to speak; he had come to understand me and my moods better than any other. But the Mandrake adept was new, unpredictable, his training in the art of violent pleasures just as thorough as Michel's own, but in a far different manner. Michel's uneasiness showed in the way he moved, almost imperceptibly leaning away from the other man, shoulders tense beneath his shirt. I smiled to myself, seeing it; I'd meant to unnerve him a bit, and it was already working.

Michel caught sight of me and startled, moving to bow as protocol dictated. The other adept, having received his own orders, caught him by the arm and turned him roughly away, forcing him toward the center of the room. I leaned back in my chair, one boot propped atop the other, and watched appreciatively over my wineglass as the Mandrake adept murmured a command. Michel sank to his knees, _abeyante _with his head bowed, and the other adept left him there while he went to the flagellary cabinet.

I studied Michel's profile while the other man perused the contents. I had already set out the pieces I wished him to use, but Michel didn't know that, and the adept made a show of taking his time. Michel was breathing quickly, his eyes on the floor, though I could tell his attention was focused on me, waiting for me to come to his rescue. I let my lips quirk in a quiet smile, enjoying the game he didn't know I was playing.

While the other adept's hooded figure remained busy at the cabinet, I sipped idly at my wine and glanced over the contract Dianne had prepared. His name was Damien nó Mandrake; he was a fully marqued adept who remained in the service of his House and came with high, if mostly anonymous, recommendations. I watched him pull back the hood of his robe, revealing a shoulder-length fall of dark gold hair, and I wondered what he had thought about being contracted by the Dauphin, whose tastes were not known to lean toward Mandrake House.

Damien, arms full with the implements I'd chosen for him, turned back toward Michel and ordered him to his feet. Michel obeyed, but I could see the reluctance in his expression. At another murmured command, he began to undress while Damien set the items on a nearby table. Somehow, the Mandrake adept managed to watch him undress with a mixture of both menace and a cool disinterest, as if Michel _almost_ wasn't worthy of his attention. It wasn't the sort of attitude I'd ever been able to direct toward the boy, and it made my blood begin to heat, watching it. Though the room was warm, I could see gooseflesh beginning to prickle Michel's skin as he stood naked under Damien's regard.

Unconcernedly kicking the neatly folded clothing out of the way, Damien plucked a cloth blindfold from the scattered items on the table and tied it over Michel's eyes. My adept caught his lower lip between his teeth, standing bare and blinded and vulnerable in the center of the room, and desire made my hand tighten suddenly on my wineglass, nearly spilling it.

I took a last, reckless swig of the wine and then set the glass aside while Damien closed a pair of heavy manacles around Michel's wrists and moved behind him. The Mandrake adept was tall enough to easily reach the thick chain that dangled from the ceiling; once he had fastened the smaller adept's wrists to it, Michel was nearly standing on his toes, arms straining overhead.

Satisfied, Damien picked up the gag left upon the table, murmuring into Michel's ear; the Valerian adept opened his mouth obediently, and Damien fit the smooth leather ball of the gag between his lips, buckling the straps tightly behind his head.

As he picked up the short, riding-style crop that remained on the table, I stood slowly, approaching the two of them. Damien came around to stop in front of Michel, giving me a piercing, green-eyed stare. He was a little taller than I, just enough that I had to lift my chin a bit to meet his gaze. He had the supreme confidence of a man who knows his own worth, and I guessed that he had seen too many nobles writhing and begging for his mercy to be much in awe of the Dauphin of Terre D'Ange. He didn't bow, or even dip his head, knowing that that wasn't why I'd asked for him. A corner of his lip twisted, and he cast an amused glance at Michel.

"I envy you, my Prince," he said quietly, raising the crop to caress Michel's jaw with its end. "This one would be a pleasure to break. Several times."

"He shall be," I agreed simply, and beside us, Michel shuddered silently.

Watching him, Damien let out a soft breath of laughter. "And you will not change your mind?"

I met his sharp gaze for a moment, considering asking him to stay. It was tempting, but I wasn't sure I was truly willing to share Michel. In any case, he had done exactly what I'd hoped for: thrown Michel off balance, so to speak, returned a measure of unpredictability to the assignation. I wasn't sure how much farther Michel would accept it. He still refused assignations with anyone but myself, and he might find Damien's presence unacceptable, might feel the need to use his _signale_. I hoped, someday, to bring the safe-word screaming to his lips, and know that I had reached the very limits of what he would permit me to do... but not yet.

"Perhaps another time," I said quietly.

Damien gave a reluctant nod. "As you wish, my Prince." He bent forward and kissed me, and I allowed it, letting his lips move confidently on mine. When he tried to take control of it, though, testing how far I would let him go, I caught a handful of his silken gold hair and kissed back, hard, our mouths fighting for dominance. It fueled my hunger, in an angry sort of way, and I jerked his head back, glaring up at him.

"Do not presume too much," I breathed, taking the crop from him with my free hand. He only smiled again.

"You asked for a Mandrake Adept, my lord," he said. "Are you unhappy to have gotten one?"

Eyes narrowing, I tightened my hold on his hair. "I did not contract you for _myself_," I growled.

Unconcerned by the way my grip craned his neck backward, Damien smiled. "A pity," he murmured. "I would enjoy the challenge you'd present, Prince Raniel."

I stared at him, allowing myself a moment's imagination of the two of us, fighting each other for dominance. It would be a sweet triumph when I emerged the victor, when I could force him down and take my reward, knowing that I'd bested one of Mandrake House's most experienced members. Another time, without the naked and helpless boy awaiting my attentions, I might have accepted his offer.

I brought the riding crop up to stroke his cheek, much the same caress he'd given Michel. "So would I," I said. "But not this night." I let him go, and he did bow, then, taking his leave without a word. I waited until he'd gone before I turned my attention back to Michel.

Naked and bound with hands high overhead, he stood quietly, staring at nothing behind his blindfold. With the entire length of his body stretched as far as it could reach, his skin was pulled taut over the lean muscles of his torso, a bare canvas waiting for the brush-strokes of the lash to decorate it. He was mine, and a slow smile spread across my face as I considered how best to continue.

I said nothing as I brushed the end of the crop along his throat, drawing a line down the front of his chest. I circled him slowly, trailing the crop around his waist, taking in every detail. The angle of his chained-up arms did interesting things to his shoulders, still bare of his marque. I paused to run my fingertips over the muscles that bunched under his skin, making him shiver. I let my fingers trail lower, following his spine to the cleft of his buttocks, and lower still. He groaned around the gag, tensing as I reached between his legs, seeking his entrance.

"If you wish to give your _signale_," I breathed into his ear, "stamp one foot against the floor. I will hear it, and stop. Do you understand, boy?"

With a low moan, he nodded. I closed my teeth on the tip of his ear, forcing a finger inside him at the same moment, and he jerked in his bonds, gasping. I smiled into his hair, and retreated abruptly. He twitched, letting out a whimper of surprise when I let the crop fall across his shoulders with a loud _thwap_.

Once I began, I couldn't stop. Elua, it was good to watch the welts that arose on his back and chest, to hear his cries and know that he was completely at my mercy... When I paused, he stood trembling blindly, never knowing if I was finished, or where the next blow would fall. I kept him guessing, and every muffled moan he uttered drove me to new peaks of desire, until my arm began to grow weary. By the time I stopped and tossed the crop aside, my phallus was almost unbearably hard, throbbing against the confines of my breeches.

Little tremors were shaking Michel's body, making his chains clink softly. His breathing was shaky with need, his own phallus erect and straining. I left him there and went to fetch the little jar of ointment, then set it on the table and unfastened the gag, reaching around his head to loosen the strap and ease it from his lips. He worked his stiff jaw silently for a moment, and whispered, "My lord, please--"

I jerked back on the loosened gag; it pressed sharply against his throat, cutting off his voice. "I did not grant you leave to speak, boy," I snapped.

He bit his lip as I slowly released his throat. I considered removing his blindfold, and then decided I liked it where it was, keeping him unaware and vulnerable. "Much better," I murmured, when he remained silent. I reached for the ointment and slicked a bit of it over his phallus, making him groan softly. I kissed him then, hard, with all the hunger that had been building up since our last assignation, bending him back as far as his bonds would allow and possessing him with lips and tongue and teeth. His phallus was an iron-hard length in my hand; I tightened my grip on him, and soon he was thrusting his hips into me, trying to match the rhythm of my strokes. I eased back from the kiss to watch him and deliberately said nothing, gave him no hints, wondering what he would do. His breath hissed through clenched teeth, and he held off longer than I'd expected, waiting for the permission I usually granted him. I didn't give it. Finally, with a note of despair in his wordless cry, he spent himself in a gasping climax, spilling his seed across my shirt.

I let him go. Michel shuddered against me, worry and shame twisting his mouth. "I am sorry, my lord--"

I clamped my free hand roughly around his throat, and he fell quiet. "Do you wish to speak your _signale_, Michel?"

He shook his head quickly, and I released him, lifting the gag from around his neck and fitting the leather knot between his lips once more. "Then be silent." I jerked the straps tight, and left him there while I turned away to undress myself. When I turned back to him, his head hung forward, the ties of the gag and blindfold hidden in the waves of his hair. I smiled to myself and stepped up behind him. My hand was still slick with ointment and Michel's seed, and I spread it over my aching phallus, biting back a groan.

"Spread your legs for me, boy," I breathed at his ear, and he obeyed, shifting his feet apart as far as he could, until he was standing on his toes, straining against the chain that kept him stretched upright. I pressed his buttocks apart and forced myself into the tight heat of his body, tearing a ragged moan from his throat. "Name of Elua, Michel," I murmured breathlessly, overwhelmed by such intense pleasure that I had to stop, struggling for restraint. His body was as taught as a drawn bowstring under my hands, shaking faintly, his breath coming fast and shallow. When I'd regained control of myself, I wrapped an arm around his ribs, pressing my hand flat against his chest and holding him immobile while I eased forward, filling him completely. His heart beat a wild rhythm against my palm while I bit into the tender flesh of his neck. For a few long moments, we moved together that way, flesh against flesh, moving as one body.

When I drew the tip of my tongue along the ridge of his ear, he let out a pleading sound, and I obliged him, seizing a handful of his hair and pulling his head back while I thrust into him, harder. His back arched, and I lowered my head to clench my teeth on the leather strap of his gag, just below his ear. I bent his body to my pleasure, shaping him the way I wanted him, until he screamed brokenly around his gag, muscles convulsing around me. I groaned into his hair, nearly biting through the length of leather between my teeth, and let myself lose control, spilling my seed into his welcoming heat.

I let go of his hair and wrapped my other arm around his chest, holding him until his shaking eased. Then, reluctantly, I pulled away. In the absence of desire, common sense was slowly returning; he'd spent nearly an hour with his arms wrenched overhead, and I didn't wish to cause him any permanent injury. When I released his wrists from the suspending chain, he staggered, and I caught him before he could fall. "Easy, boy," I murmured. "Come here." I gathered him in my arms, a slight but solid weight, and took him to the edge of the bed. He sat patiently, still blinded and restrained, still breathless. I reached down and gently eased his head forward, untied his gag and blindfold. He blinked up at me with dark blue eyes while I unfastened the cuffs at his wrists. "Here," I advised, moving his arm in a large circle, working the shoulder joint. "You're going to be sore for a few days, Michel."

He didn't wince at the pain, only repeated the movement with his other arm. "Yes, my lord," he murmured. "It's always worth it, for a night of your patronage."

"Only mine?" I asked, teasing him a bit. "Are there no others with more skills, more training, who can tempt you, boy?"

A hint of the night's earlier tension shivered through his body, and I knew he was thinking of the Mandrake adept. "Yes," he admitted. "But they are not you, my lord. Anything that _you_ ask of me, I will do."

I smiled at this, and reached down to caress his cheek possessively. He closed his eyes briefly at the touch, and I drew in a sharp breath as desire returned in a rush, my phallus stirring to life once more.

When he leaned forward, reaching for me, I caught a tangle of his dark wavy hair in my fist, halting him. "I do not ask this of you, Michel," I said roughly.

"I know," he whispered, and took me between his lips nevertheless. _Ah, Elua_... I should have stopped him. The contract had been honored, the assignation fulfilled... But his mouth was wet and willing on my flesh, and I let him perform the _languisement_. It was leisurely and unhurried, my need tempered by our earlier lovemaking. I watched my phallus slide between his lips, stroking his hair and murmuring encouragement until he brought me to a slow, shuddering climax that left me a bit lightheaded.

Too exhausted now to take the few steps to the bed, I let my legs fold under me and sat on the cool flagstones at his feet. His eyes were calm, blue shadows as he met my gaze. "I will do anything you ask of me, my lord," he repeated softly. "And more, besides."

I reached up and grasped his chin, drawing him closer. "Why?"

He didn't have an answer. I kissed him, tasting my own seed on his tongue. When I let him go, he leaned his forehead against mine, and I closed my eyes. We stayed that way for a long time, while I stroked my thumb along his jaw and wondered how this young Valerian adept had become so important to me...


	6. A Warning and a Promise

**Author's note:** Ok, here we go: **(1)** A note about terms used: _natality_, if I correctly remember Jacqueline Carey's use of the word, is the D'Angeline term for birthday. Also, apparently _dauphin_ means _dolphin_ in French; but I'll continue to use it as the masculine form of _dauphine_, the female heir to the throne of Terre D'Ange. **(2)** I'm considering a separate story about Damien... he intrigues me :-) **(3)** According to Ms. Carey's website, she's written a novella about Anafiel and Rolande's relationship... I can't wait to read how she treats an M/M couple!** (4)** I have a lot more ideas for Shadows-- which, despite my best efforts, is starting to have some tiny semblance of a plot-- but I probably won't update till December, as National Novel Writing Month will be sucking up all my creative energy in November. **(5)** Finally, a warning: This chapter is M/M/M for a significant amount of time. As always, not for immature readers!

The invitation was the sixth or seventh in another pile of good wishes I received a few days before my natality, nothing on the outside to distinguish it from the other pieces of correspondence save the seal of Valerian House, pressed into a circle of scarlet wax. Since I had given up looking at the seals on the envelopes by the fourth one, I didn't notice that detail until later.

The invitation itself was written on a sheet of creamy-white paper, very fine, in a flowing, graceful script and signed by the Dowayne herself. I skimmed over it, then frowned and sat up straighter in my chair, going back to read it more carefully.

"What is it, Rani?"

Bemused, I leaned across the writing desk and handed the paper to my father, wondering what he'd make of it. "Valerian House is throwing a fête. In my honor."

Father raised his eyebrows, and the corner of his mouth quirked as if he were hiding a smile, as he took the invitation. "I wouldn't have expected Valerian's... environment... to be conducive to a fête."

"Nor would I," I mused, pursing my lips while Father read over the Dowayne's invitation, his eyebrows climbing higher.

"'In gratitude for His Highness' generous patronage and the honor that his frequent presence has bestowed upon our House...'" he read aloud, and looked up to frown at me over the top of the letter. "Raniel, I've heard rumors. Exactly how... frequent have your visits to Valerian been?"

Behind me, my steward Hubert coughed delicately; he was the only other man outside of Valerian House who knew that answer for a certainty. I grinned at Father. "More frequent than any other member of the Royal Family in recent history. Enough to earn myself a fête, it seems."

He shook his head with a rueful smile and handed the invitation back to me, but when I'd folded it and looked back up, his eyes were serious. Sapphire blue; my grandmother's eyes, everyone says. My brother inherited them, while I received Mother's dark Cruithne eyes. Julien, though, doesn't yet have the knowledge or experience to give that piercing gaze that our father can. For a moment, caught in that look, I felt like a little boy again, like the time I'd been dragged, politely but firmly, back to the Palace after running off to visit the Temple of Kushiel by myself. He was looking at me the same way he had then, a parent wondering how to reconcile the fact that he both understood, _and _wished to warn his child away from danger.

"Raniel," he said slowly, and paused. "...Do I need to caution you about what you are doing?"

"No, Father," I murmured, still feeling, absurdly, a bit like a wayward child.

"Mmm." He eyed me for a moment longer, considering. "You are a man grown, and so I will not. But I will ask that you remember Blessed Elua's precept, Rani. For the adepts' sakes, if not your own."

"Love as thou wilt," I said softly. "I do, Father."

He nodded understanding, and a knowing smile tugged at his mouth. "Well. I suppose you'd best send a reply to the Dowayne."

----

All the Houses of the Night Court know how to host a fête, of course, though some, like Orchis and Eglantine, have better reputations for such things than others. For the Houses whose patrons value discretion and confidentiality, such a public gathering can be difficult to arrange. _Love as thou wilt_, Blessed Elua bade us, but not everyone is willing to reveal their preference for the violent sides of pleasure simply for the sake of a fête.

However, there are some who hold no shame in such things.... So on the evening of the twenty-third anniversary of my birth, it was a group of my Shahrizai cousins, bearing their own invitations, who gathered me over my laughing protests into their carriage and headed for Valerian House. We had already spent a few hours in the Hall of Games with several bottles of fine Namarrese wine, and the carriage ride was a boisterous affair. The promises of the evening had my cousins and myself in high spirits.

We arrived in the courtyard of the House just after full dark, spilling a crowd of milk-white skin and blue-black hair into the crisp autumn night. The whole rowdy lot of us jostled each other through the doors, unsuccessfully trying to hush each other amid rather drunken laughter; we needn't have bothered, for the usual discreet hush of the House was already absent. We could hear the sounds of a gathering deeper in the building, voices in conversation and jest, with an undertone of dark promises that quickly made me grow sober in a rush of unfocused desire.

Dianne met us in the foyer with a graceful curtsey. "My lord Prince, lords and ladies of Shahrizai, be welcome to Valerian House. Prince Raniel, allow me to extend my wishes for a happy natality. In appreciation for your lordship's generous patronage of this House, and too in celebration, the doors of Valerian are closed to all but your party this night, and all the House is yours to command."

With varying degrees of grace, depending on the amount of wine we'd each had, we all bowed or curtseyed in response. "Thank you, good Dowayne," I replied. "I am honored."

Dianne swept all of us with her gaze, continuing, "I require only that you obtain the _signale_ of any adept you encounter, and honor it accordingly if it is used."

We all murmured our assent without hesitation. They were Shahrizai; we all knew how the game was played.

Satisfied, Dianne swept a hand down the hall. "Then, my lords and ladies, if you'll follow me...?"

We followed, some of our boisterous cheer quieting. She led us to an enormous room, where the other guests were already gathered. There were some more Shahrizai cousins, who hailed my little group with a loud cheer when we entered; and a few other friends of mine among the young nobility. There were also, I noted with surprise, quite a few Mandrake adepts; I never learned if they were guests, or if they had been contracted for the fête. They were visible at a glance, like dark flames among the others. I caught a glimpse of golden-dark hair, a flash of green eyes; Damien, the Mandrake adept I had contracted for our last assignation.

The guests were mingling about, drinks in hand, the way guests will, early in a fête. At the far end of the room, however, a crowd of adepts waited. Aligned in almost military precision, they waited with hands clasped before them, heads down, all nude.

For the most part, we ignored them, though a few of us cast heated glances their way. I accepted a glass of wine from a young adept's tray, and circled the room, greeting other guests and making introductions. Guest of honor or not, it would have been unconscionably rude not to do so.

Finally, Leandre Shahrizai gave me a look, full lips curling in a smile. "We celebrate your natality this evening, cousin," she said quietly, indicating the patient Valerian adepts with a wave of her hand. "They await your choosing, first."

"And make haste," her brother Cesáre added, drawing laughter from the nearby guests. "We don't all have your self-control, cousin!"

"Indeed," I murmured, and strode forward. The conversation in the room dimmed slightly, as some of the guests turned to watch me make my choice. I daresay the waiting adepts themselves all knew who I would pick; it was common knowledge in the House that only one of them was fortunate enough to be the Dauphin's favorite. I looked them over anyway, every one of them, walking slowly down each row. I could sense their desire, even when it was not obvious in a flushed face or quickened breath. Fearful, obedient, expectant, defiant... and yet all of them submissive, ready to surrender to my control at a murmured word, a beckoning finger. Gods, it was a heady feeling.

Michel was near the back of the crowd, for it seemed they had arranged themselves by seniority. I stopped before him and watched the shiver run over his bare skin; he knew who stood before him, though he kept his eyes downcast, like all the others. I raised his chin, forcing him to look at me. He caught his lower lip between his teeth and drew in a shallow breath.

"Your _signale_, boy?" I asked in a rough whisper, though I knew it already.

"Shadows, my lord," he said. The words had barely left his lips before I was kissing him, hard and possessive, ensuring there would be no doubt to anyone watching that he was _mine_. When I let him go, the other adepts had begun to move away, freed to attend the other guests and be chosen themselves.

"Come," I said, and Michel followed me while I continued to mingle with the other guests. I had a half-formed idea of greeting Damien, but it seemed he was always on the far side of the crowd, and too many others wanted to extend to me their well-wishes. Between the guests and the full glass of wine, which Michel held for me when I wasn't drinking, I forgot that the Mandrake adept was there.

Dianne had arranged a Showing for the fête, another touch I hadn't quite expected. Some chairs and couches had been arranged in an adjoining room, around a raised dais, and those of us who hadn't already retreated from the fête with an adept or two made our way to the seating area, while the adepts for the Showing climbed the steps to the dais.

There were four of them; two pairs of a male and female, from both Mandrake and Valerian. I remember little of the Showing except that they all four were very skilled at what they did. I took a low couch in the back of the room, and Michel knelt at my feet as the Showing began. The adepts hadn't gone very far before Michel turned to face me unbidden, sliding graceful hands up my thighs, and the desire that had been but a few glowing embers all evening suddenly burst into a raging fire of need. He unfastened my breeches, and I permitted it, though I didn't move to help him. He dared a glance up at my face; I gazed back impassively, giving him nothing, though every bit of me was screaming silently with the urge to seize him and lay claim to him, in full view of everyone present.

Up on the dais, a whip cracked, and someone cried out, startling those dark blue eyes from mine. I clenched my teeth as Michel drew my phallus into the wet heat of his mouth, felt my nails bite into my palms as his fingers reached deeper inside my breeches. _Michel..._ I thought silently, biting my lip to keep from crying out and disrupting the Showing. Ironic, I realized only a bit coherently, that my own control, that I'd so strictly lectured him about, was now so easily pushed to its limit by his touch. I unclenched a fist and tangled it in his hair instead, tightly enough to make him moan softly around my flesh.

"There you are, my Prince," a voice purred in my ear, and I managed not to twitch in startlement. A hand slid into my hair, a firm echo of the grip I had on Michel. "I've been hoping for a chance to wish you a happy natality in private."

"You are too kind, Damien," I murmured, without sounding too breathless. I was granted a moment of clear-headedness as Michel raised his head hesitantly.

"No one bade you stop, little one," Damien told him mildly, and when I didn't contradict it, Michel returned to the _languisement_, though I could sense a tension in his body that hadn't been there before. Damien's free hand brushed my hair back from my face, baring my ear to his low voice. "Are you enjoying your fête, Prince Raniel?"

"Mmm." With some effort, I forced my way back to a semblance of control, by sheer determination more than anything else. If the Mandrake adept wanted to hold a nearly-nonchalant conversation while pretending we were not caught in such an intimate moment, I refused to do any less. On the dais, the show of submission and dominance had intensified, and I looked away quickly before my control eroded once more. "Dianne has outdone herself, as usual."

Damien chuckled, a low, seductive sound that made my stomach clench. He leaned his forearm against the back of the couch, fingertips brushing my shoulder almost casually. His other hand still gripped my hair, thumb stroking slowly against the back of my head. "And you, little one?" He asked, a knowing smile in his voice. "You are enjoying yourself, aren't you?"

Michel tensed when the Mandrake adept addressed him, hesitant again. I jerked sharply at his hair, pulling him up and away from my lap. "Answer him, boy," I ordered.

His eyes flicked to me before fixing on Damien, above my shoulder. "Yes." It was a whisper, barely audible over the moans from the dais. It made Damien laugh softly, again.

"If you will permit me to say so, my Prince, your pet's manners leave something to be desired." His voice dropped lower, breath ghosting across my skin. "Perhaps he needs us to teach him how to address his betters."

From the dais, one of the women cried out, a choked plea of ecstasy. Michel shivered, staring up at Damien. His eyes had widened, dark with desire and a bit of fear. I hadn't had the intention of inviting Damien to join us, still wasn't sure I wanted to share _my_ adept, but perhaps the wine I'd drunk was clouding my decisions. I gazed at that tiny spark of fear in his eyes, and I wanted _more_. I wanted to see what he would do under the weight of it; I wanted to bruise his lips under mine and taste it. I let my mouth curl up in a crooked smile. "Perhaps he does," I murmured, and Michel gave me a startled look.

I loosened my grip on his hair. "Go to our usual chamber, boy, and wait for us there."

He let out a shivering breath. "Yes, my lord." He rose gracefully to his feet and left the room, eyes on the floor.

Damien shifted to watch him go, while I returned my clothing to a semblance of order. "Your restraint is impressive, Prince Raniel. As is your generosity; were the boy mine, I do not think I would be so willing to share."

The snap of leather against skin on the dais became a measured beat, accompanied by a young man's ragged pleas. Nearby in the dimly-lit audience, someone let out a groan. Damien's hand was still in my hair, fingers moving against my head in such a light, rhythmic touch that I wasn't sure he was aware of it. I turned my head to look at him for the first time, seeing his startling green eyes, the fall of dark golden hair that spilled over his shoulder. "I am not," I admitted. "He is afraid of you, and I want to see what he will do... but he _is_ mine, and there are some things I will not allow."

"Ah," he breathed. "Then may I suggest, my Prince, that you choose a _signale _of your own, so that there will be no mistaking when I have reached the edges of your tolerance?"

The idea had merit, and I thought carefully for a moment, trying not to be distracted by the display that continued at the front of the room, or the way Damien's hand had shifted to trace the edge of my ear with a fingertip. "Challenge," I said finally.

The corners of his green eyes crinkled; I knew he was remembering our last meeting. _I would enjoy the challenge you'd present,_ he'd told me. It didn't quite apply to our planned activity with Michel, but it was a word that had meaning to both of us.

"Very well," he said. "And mine is Béline." It was a name, a woman's name, and I wondered at the significance it held, but that wasn't why I raised my eyebrows, and he answered my unspoken query. "There are some things that even I will not do, no matter how a patron begs for it," he said softly, and then smiled. "But I do not think you will learn any of them tonight." He leaned forward to kiss me, a nearly-chaste brush of lips. "Shall we go, my Prince?"

I rose to my feet, and we left the Showing-- whose participants now performed mostly for their own pleasure, as the audience members had found other ways to occupy themselves and each other-- and Damien walked with long, confident strides behind my left shoulder as I led him through the halls of Valerian.

Inside the Shahrizai quarters, Michel awaited us as he almost always did, kneeling _abeyante_ in the center of the room. He had lit only the fire in the hearth and a few of the oil lanterns; they cast long, wavering shadows across the stone floor. He didn't look up when we entered, but I saw his shoulders tense.

Damien glanced at me, seeking permission. I granted it wordlessly, inclining my head in Michel's direction. "Come here, little one," the Mandrake adept said, and Michel rose to his feet, desire and reluctance conflicting in every line of his body. He took a step, and froze when Damien said, in a low, dangerous voice, "I did not tell you to stand."

_Elua_... such a simple way to reinforce his submission, and yet I had never conceived of it. I bit the inside of my cheek, hard, fighting back the return of my raging desire while Michel sank to his knees again and crawled across the floor to us.

"Better," Damien allowed, as Michel straightened into the _abeyante_ position once more, at our feet. The Mandrake adept was looking down at him with that same sort of cool menace that I'd seen last time, and Michel seemed to know it; though he kept his eyes down, his shoulders hunched slightly under that almost-disinterested regard.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the heavy wooden door, watching as Damien walked a slow circle around him. "What shall we do with him, my Prince?"

I smiled. "I can think of several things," I said. "But first, I believe he has a lesson to learn."

Damien's sharp green gaze met mine over Michel's head, and he smiled back, cruel and hard. "Yes," he murmured, and slid a hand down the side of Michel's face, wrapping slender fingers around his neck and forcing his head up to look at me. The adept's eyes were a deep, dark blue; shadowed, hungry. Frightened. "Who is that, little one?"

"Prince Raniel," Michel whispered. I couldn't remember the last time he'd called me by name, and it sent a little thrill down my spine.

Damien's grip tightened slightly, making Michel wince. "And how do you address him?"

"As... my lord." His voice rasped in his throat; Damien let him go abruptly, continuing to circle around until he stood in front of the kneeling adept. Silence stretched, heavy and dangerous.

"Get up," Damien ordered. "Look at me, little one. Who am _I_?"

Michel obeyed. "Damien nó Mandrake."

Another question, very softly. "And how do you address me?"

Michel hesitated, risking a glance in my direction. I gave him no reassurance. "Don't embarrass me, boy," I warned him. "Answer the question."

"I... I don't--"

"Don't you?" Damien struck him, and he staggered a step to the side. The sight made a little pinprick of guilt flare within me, even as another rush of arousal came hard on its heels. If I'd been a goblet or two drunker, I would have laughed aloud at the absurdity of that guilt. Michel had received far worse treatment, from my own hands... yet now that I had allowed another man to touch him, an unfamiliar feeling of protectiveness was beginning to stir within me. _Fool,_ I thought with dark amusement.

"Do you fancy yourself better than I, little one?" Damien asked with quiet menace, as Michel regained his balance. "Because it will be a long, torturous night for you if I must teach you otherwise."

Michel shook his head fervently, and Damien fixed him with an intense glare. "Then you will address me with the same respect you give any other patron. Do you understand me?"

He murmured acknowledgement, this time with a "my lord" added on. Damien gave a derisive snort. "We shall see," he said, glancing back at me over his shoulder, a glint of cruel amusement in his eye. "Make use of yourself, little one, and help the prince undress." He strode away toward the cabinet of the flagellary.

I remained where I was, letting Michel come to me and crouch at my feet, reaching for the buckles of my boots. I let him pull them off one at a time, let him rise and unbutton my shirt with deft, quick fingers. I shrugged out of the sleeves and caught his wrist as he reached for my trousers. "Enough," I told him, and walked away, leaving him standing near the door.

Damien looked up as I joined him at the flagellary cabinet. "_Much_ better," he observed, taking in my half-dressed state. "Do you have any thoughts on the choice of... implements?"

I ignored his first comment, looking over the contents of the cabinet. "There is nothing here that he fears over another," I said, knowing he could hear us discussing him as if he weren't there. "Choose as you will."

Damien smiled down at me, darkly, and pitched his voice so that only I could hear. "If I truly did that, it would not be your pet Valerian adept who knelt so patiently in the center of the room."

"Nor would it be I," I said sharply. "Make your choice, Damien, or speak your _signale_ and be done with it."

He took a step closer, close enough that he needed only to drop his head forward to kiss me. "You will have to try harder than that to hear the _signale_ from my lips, my Prince," he breathed.

"Perhaps I will," I said, conscious again of that desire to control him, to show him that Mandrake adepts were not the only ones who could claim mastery over another.

His smile widened; he held my gaze unflinchingly and plucked a cat-o-nine-tails from the cabinet without looking. A moment more of that piercing emerald stare, that knowing smirk, and then he returned to Michel without a word.

I made my own selection from the cabinet, and then followed slowly. I watched Damien order Michel where he wanted him, standing before the fire in the hearth, where golden light flickered playfully over the stark lines of his marque. The Valerian adept stood with hands clasped before him, eyes on the floor, while Damien walked another slow circle around him. He stopped before him as I joined them, and Michel shivered under our combined gaze, despite the warmth of the nearby hearth.

"Do you fear me, little one?" Damien asked softly.

Michel's head jerked up, and I saw the truth of it in his eyes even before he breathed, "Yes, my lord."

"Good." Damien deftly flipped the whip he held, so that he could use the end of the handle to trace a swirling pattern over Michel's chest. "Because I am not Prince Raniel." The whip-handle slid lower, and Michel let out a trembling gasp at the touch. "I have no desire to ensure _you_ enjoy this." He smiled, that cruel and confident smile again. "I only want to see how loudly I can make you scream, little one."

He walked around to stand behind Michel. My adept shot me a pleading look before half-turning to keep Damien in his vision. "My lord--"

"_Turn around!_" The command was like a whip-crack in the quiet room, and Michel jumped; even I twitched slightly. Damien caught my eye over Michel's shoulder, and there was no longer any of that dark amusement in his expression; his eyes were like shards of jagged green glass, sharp with arousal and power. "Do you have anything to add before we begin, my Prince?" His voice was low and dangerous once more, and I believe both of them expected me to call it off, to rush to Michel's rescue.

Instead, I reached out with the length of rough, slender rope I'd taken from the flagellary, and bound Michel's wrists together, tightly enough to make him wince. "You'll enjoy it anyway, won't you, boy?" I asked, and didn't wait for a reply before I kissed him.

He jerked involuntarily as the whip fell across his back with a loud _snap_, and I pulled away, laughing softly. He braced his feet wider and closed his eyes as Damien continued, and I reached down to brush my fingertips over the head of his phallus. It was stiff, swollen with desire, and he moaned at my touch. I crouched before him, teasing him cruelly with my hands before finally giving him what he wanted and beginning the _languisement_. He groaned aloud, bound hands clenching into fists above me, as I drew the hard length of him into my mouth. Elua, he tasted good; scented soap and sweat and need, silken skin over rigid desire, barely able to control himself while the nine-tailed whip fell across his back and shoulders.

Together, Damien and I worked him that way for a long time, pain on one side and pleasure on the other, while he shuddered and writhed and moaned between us. I had two fingers inside of him and he had begun to beg, in ragged, breathless pleas, when the whip fell silent and Damien stepped up to press his body against Michel's. The Mandrake adept was saying something in his ear, in a low growl that I couldn't hear. Michel went rigid above me, all his wanton abandon cut off, and I felt Damien's long, slender fingers brush mine, seeking entrance to Michel's body.

I pulled away and stood up; Michel stared at me wide-eyed desperation, and I knew what he was about to say. I reached up and pressed a fingertip against his lips, which I should not have done; it borders on heresy to prevent an adept of the Night Court from giving his _signale_. But he clamped his mouth shut obediently, blue eyes trusting me as some of their desperation faded.

I circled around behind Damien and seized his hips, pulling him back roughly against me. He went easily, letting Michel go, and laughed softly. "Changing your mind, my Prince?"

"Yes," I murmured, and a tremor ran through his body. He made as if to turn around; I knotted my fingers in his golden hair and wrenched his head backwards. "_Challenge_," I hissed in his ear.

He stiffened, and I let him go. He turned around to glare at me, need and anger plain on his face. "You are certain of this?"

"Yes," I said again, and he grimaced. He closed his eyes, and for a long moment the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and our uneven breathing. When he opened them again, they still smoldered with fury and desire, but the rest of his expression was a perfect courtier's face, pleasantly uncommunicative.

"As you wish, Prince Raniel," he said quietly, and glanced back at Michel. "I shall take my leave of you, then."

I nodded, and he went. I could see the angry reluctance in his movements as he let himself out the door; but a _signale_ had been given, and he was too well trained to argue it. I felt a flash of pity for whatever Valerian adept he snatched up to sate his desire, and then turned back to Michel.

He had sunk to the stone floor, elbows leaning on his knees, with his bound wrists held out before him. I went and crouched before him, catching his chin in a rough grip and forcing his head up.

"Listen carefully, boy. Someday," I told him, and it was both a warning and a promise, "you will give me your _signale_; I will make you scream it for me. And when you do, you will give it to me alone. It will be between you and I, no one else. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," he whispered.

"Good boy." I kissed his forehead. "Now bend over. I'm not finished with you."

He obeyed, leaning forward to brace his forearms on the floor, and I went to kneel behind him. I took him hard, without further preparation, leaving finger-sized bruises where I gripped his hips. He bore it without complaint, reaching his climax quickly, and I let him enjoy it before I began to move faster. I gazed down at the marque that inched up his back, crisscrossed by Damien's lash weals, and felt a flare of anger, at myself, for letting another man mark him.

_Mine_, I thought, though I didn't say it. I didn't have a true claim to him; he belonged to Valerian House. But I knew, as I thrust into him roughly, beginning to lose my rhythm in the growing urgency, that I would not make the mistake of sharing him again.

_Mine..._

My breath hissed through my teeth as I spent myself inside him with a few last, deep thrusts. Michel whimpered and then fell silent, head hanging down to rest on his wrists. I stayed where I was for a long moment, catching my breath before I let him go.

"Come, boy," I said, rising to my feet. "Get up. Those weals should be tended, so they do not scar."

He stood stiffly, and I went to untie his wrists, dropping the rope where we stood. The rough fiber had left red, abraded patches on his wrists, and I kissed them gently, feeling his blue eyes on me.

A pang of guilt, stronger this time, made me look up to meet his eyes, remembering how I'd held back his _signale_. He could have spoken it anyway, before I gave my own... but I still regretted it. "Are you...well, Michel?"

He smiled. "Yes." His voice was hoarse. I kissed him, slowly, putting into it all the apology I couldn't say aloud, and I tasted forgiveness in his welcoming response.

We sat on the large bed that filled an alcove across from the fireplace, and I cleaned the lash-marks that Damien had left on his back. I went as gently as I could, though he still hissed in pain as I smoothed a healing cream across each one. He returned the favor for a matching welt on the back of my hand, where I'd carelessly gotten in the way of the whip. When we'd finished, I bade him to lie down.

He did, stretching out on his stomach, leaving his wounds open to the air. "Will you stay the night here, my lord?" He asked, drowsily, as I joined him.

I smiled down at him. "It would be foolish not to," I said, reaching out to brush an errant strand of hair from his cheek. "Dianne did say that the entire House was reserved for my presence tonight."

Michel laughed softly, pillowing his head on his folded hands, gazing sideways at me. "Happy natality, my lord."

"Thank you, Michel," I murmured, and he closed his eyes. I reached out to stroke his hair, and fell asleep with the touch of his dark, silken waves under my hand.


	7. Night's Doorstep

**Author's note: **Thank you, redflame1020, for your kind and consistent reviews! I'm glad someone seems to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing!

Despite the fact that Michel hadn't seemed to suffer any ill effects from our activities the night of my fête, guilt still plagued me for some days afterward. I could not stop remembering that it had been _my_ whims that had allowed another to touch him, to experience what I'd come to regard as something only Michel and I shared. He had made it clear that he kept himself reserved for me alone... And though he had endured Damien's presence for as long as he was willing, I felt that somehow I had betrayed him, betrayed what lay between us.

Several days after my fête at Valerian House, the guilt had grown to such a weight on my shoulders that I cancelled an afternoon's sword-training lesson, much to Master Perrault's surprise, and went to the stables instead. In no mood for conversation, I waved away the stable-boys' help and saddled my roan mare myself. Without waiting for the Royal Guards, who for propriety's sake should have escorted me into the City, I left the Palace alone.

It was a brisk autumn day, and would have been pleasant enough if I wasn't in such a dark mood. I nodded absently at the few passers-by who called out greetings. There were less than usual, and I could not say if it was because my lack of an escort made me less recognizable, or because my expression warned away most of them. I think, by the time I dismounted in the courtyard of Valerian House, people had begun to look at me with a bit of trepidation.

Dianne met me in the foyer, as was her custom; she looked surprised to see me. "A good afternoon to you, my Prince," she said, curtsying. "It is early for you, is it not?"

I managed to summon a polite smile. "It is, my lady Dowayne, but I have not come for an assignation. I need to speak with Michel, if he is in."

She raised an eyebrow, but said only, "I will have Celeste bring you to his room," she said, waving a hand. A young female adept stepped forward, ducking her head toward me with a murmured, "My lord...?"

I followed her, through halls of the House that I was not familiar with, to a corridor lined with doors; the adepts' rooms, I gathered. Celeste paused before one, glanced at me before knocking, and opened it without waiting for a response.

"Not now, Celeste," Michel's voice came, and I stepped into the room behind her.

The room was tiny, but well-appointed, a large bed taking up most of the space. To one side was a desk, piled high with books, over which Michel's head was bent, his wavy brown hair caught back from his face in a queue at the nape of his neck.

"Michel," Celeste began, and he looked up, eyes widening when he saw me.

"My lord!" He rose with alacrity, coming around the desk. Celeste made a hasty retreat, closing the door behind her. "I apologize, my lord, no one sent word that you were--"

"The fault is mine," I interrupted him. "I sent no word ahead; I only want to speak with you."

He quickly subdued the flash of worry that crossed his face, but not before I saw it, and felt all the more guilty for it. "Michel..." I hesitated; apologies have never come easily from me. Not sincere ones, at any rate. I reached out and stroked his cheek while I tried to gather the words I wished to say; he closed his eyes briefly, and they were beginning to grow dark with desire when he opened them again. "I must make you an apology," I finally managed. "I feel that I betrayed your trust when I allowed Damien to lay his hands on you. You have honored me with your choice to refuse other patrons, and I--"

I could not remember ever hearing him interrupt me, but he did then. "Nothing happened that night, at your command or otherwise, that I did not desire, my lord."

I let my hand drop to his shoulder, my thumb absently stroking his collarbone. "You would have given your _signale_, if I had not prevented it," I reminded him.

Michel shook his head. "I knew what was coming, and I was prepared to give my _signale_, my lord. But you gave it for me, before I needed to. If anything was happening for which you must needs apologize, I would have spoken it far earlier." He smiled slightly. "And I can assure you, my lord, that was the _last_ thing I wished to do."

I returned the smile, a little, though I wasn't entirely convinced. "Perhaps. But it does not excuse my poor decisions that night."

Michel studied me seriously for a moment, and then his smile returned, deepening with a tinge of amused understanding behind it. It was a look I'd never seen him wear, and it reminded me that, though he took no other patrons, he _was _a Servant of Naamah. "If my lord is jealous, that is hardly something for which you need apologize to _me_."

That startled a laugh from my throat, and I began to feel a bit better. "True enough, and fairly spoken," I conceded, eyeing him thoughtfully. Somehow, he had seen the truth that I had not quite grasped: It was not he who blamed me for my poor decision. I blamed myself, and that was something I needed to tend to on my own. "Then it seems the only thing for which I must apologize is the unnecessary interruption of your studies, Michel. I beg your pardon."

"Not at all, my lord." He smiled at me, a little shyly. "I am always pleased to see you."

"And what are you studying?" I asked curiously, noticing for the first time how _many_ books were crowded onto his small desk.

"Jeb'ez, my lord."

I blinked. "The language?" I asked, rather stupidly.

He didn't appear to notice, his eyes lighting with the spark of excitement scholars get when they talk about their passions. "Oh, yes, my lord!" He went into a complicated explanation of how he hoped to enter the Academy in the study of languages, and was determined to teach himself as much as he could before then, to have a head start on his studies. He ended with, "You look surprised, my lord...?"

"Not at all," I lied smoothly, and he colored slightly when I added, "I know something of the skill of your tongue, after all."

But I _had _been staring, I realized belatedly; suddenly struck by the realization that I knew very little about Michel except that he was an adept who enjoyed the ungentle pleasures of submission. I knew nothing else about his interests, his goals, and I suddenly _wanted_ to. On impulse, I asked, "Michel, if it will not unduly interfere with your studies, would you care to take a walk with me?"

It was his turn to blink in surprise, but I was grateful that he did not hesitate to agree, and so we found ourselves out in the streets of Mont Nuit, leaving the other Valerian adepts to their speculative whispers. I began walking without a true destination in mind, and Michel fell into step beside me.

"Tell me more about your studies, Michel," I prompted, and he shot me another shy glance.

"Truly, my lord?"

"Yes," I said firmly, putting a hint of command into my voice. Michel shivered a little, and I didn't think it was from the cool breeze; but he dove headlong into a rather more coherent explanation of his interests-- languages, history-- and his hopes of entering the Academy someday, when he had made his marque.

We walked and conversed this way for some hours; I do not remember how long, nor where we wandered. I listened attentively while he spoke, and answered his own questions about life in the Palace, and began to see that Michel's quiet, unassuming demeanor concealed a mind as sharp and quick as any scholar's.

Eventually, we found ourselves in Night's Doorstep, appropriately as the sun was beginning to set. We wandered the narrow, paved roads, laughing at the occasional street performers and speaking of inconsequential things. There was a certain freedom in it, a pleasantly unfamiliar sensation. It had been years since I had had the desire or opportunity to leave the Palace unescorted, and I was enjoying the lack of entourage. A moment's guilt was quickly assuaged by the thoughts that Hubert had known where I was going, that many in Valerian House had seen Michel and I leave on foot, and that by now rumors would be flying through the City that the Dauphin was in Night's Doorstep. It would not be difficult for me to be found, if necessary... but until then, I was determined to enjoy the freedom from my usual obligations.

As full darkness was falling over the City, we came to a rambling inn and tavern that I recognized; it had been some years since I'd been inside, and the thought made me smile. "Have you ever been to the Cockerel, Michel?"

"No, my lord." He gave me a sideways glance. "I understand your family has a bit of history, here."

"Yes." I remembered the stories my father's foster-parents used to tell, of Phèdre's friendship with the inn's original owner, who would one day become the Master of the Straits. "Come, Michel. Let's have a drink."

Despite the crowd, the innkeeper saw us immediately, ushering us to a table and bringing our drinks herself. There were musicians, who were very good; and perforce there was dancing. I danced with quite a few young women, nobles and commoners and Tsingani alike, who recognized me and were daring enough to approach me, though I did ask anyone myself. Even Michel accepted a few invitations, with a glance at me that I pretended not to notice. Finally, I retreated to the relative sanctuary of our corner table, leaving the rest to dance while the musicians sweated and grinned in their own corner. Michel was engaged in learning the complicated steps of a Tsingani dance, smiling while the dark girl who'd become his tutor tried to correct him. I watched him, an echoing smile on my face, as the rest of the song played out. He moved with a natural grace, and though he was only just learning the steps, he made his way through them with an easy balance and coordination that would have shamed any attempt I might have made. He bowed gallantly over the Tsingani girl's hand when it was over, making her blush, and thanked her for the dance.

As the musicians struck up another tune at the crowd's urging, Michel returned to our table, dark cobalt eyes sparkling with excitement. Breathless and smiling, he dropped onto the bench beside me.

"You dance well," I told him, sliding a possessive arm around his shoulders. Grinning, he thanked me and leaned into my shoulder, close enough to press his thigh against mine.

"Do they teach you to dance, in Valerian House?" I asked idly, reaching up to tug at the ribbon that held back his hair. It came free easily, and his hair fell forward in its loose, chestnut-colored waves, half-hiding his face.

He glanced sideways, eyes flickering up towards me from under his lashes. "Only a bit," he said over the din of the crowded common room. "Enough to prevent us from embarrassing ourselves. Sephira always said I had an aptitude, though."

"Mmm." I slid my hand through his hair, grasping a firm handful and turning his head for a kiss. Elua, that kiss... It was sweet and fervent at once, both deepened by the pleasant afternoon we'd spent together, and promising the darker pleasures that we both sought. It was enough to make the room spin dizzily around me in a way that had nothing to do with the Cockerel's rot-gut wine.

When I let him go, his face was flushed, eyes dark and shining. I turned away to down a quick draught of my wine, and then set down the tankard and pressed my hand against his thigh. The cloth of his breeches was deliciously soft against my palm as I slid my hand higher. His phallus was hard as stone, pressing insistently against the confines of his breeches. He gasped softly when I touched him, his body tensing.

I pressed my lips to his temple, whispering into his hair, "Quiet, boy." He bit his lip and held silent while my hand moved on him beneath the table; he gazed out over the common room as if nothing occurred.

I let him endure, wordlessly, until the musicians began another song. Then I swept his hair back and brought my lips to his ear, whispering over the noise of the room. "Go speak to the innkeeper, boy. Find us a room for the evening, and assure her that I shall settle payment on the morrow."

"We need not, my lord, if you would rather return to Valerian House than pay for a room here..."

"No," I growled in his ear. "I want you _now_, boy... Here, where we need not be the Dauphin and his adept, but simply... simply Raniel and Michel." It was more than I'd meant to say, more emotion than I'd intended to trust to him, but he looked at me gravely for a long moment, and I saw that he understood.

He smiled slightly. "As my lord wishes," he whispered, and I let him slip out of my grasp to find the innkeeper. He threaded his way through the press of bodies with the ease of all Night Court-trained adepts. I watched over the rim of my tankard of wine as he spoke to the innkeeper, saw the woman glance in my direction and nod sagely, then lead him toward the stairs.

He caught my eye with a questioning glance through the crowd; I waved him on, and he followed the innkeeper alone while I sipped at my wine. After a few moments, she returned alone and approached the table, curtsying deeply. "Has our service tonight been acceptable, my lord Dauphin?" She asked, a trifle anxiously.

"My lady, it has been a very long time since I enjoyed myself quite so thoroughly," I answered truthfully, and was rewarded by a beaming smile.

"Your companion chose the room first on the right, at the top of the stairs," she said. "Do you require anything more to drink? Something to eat, my lord Dauphin?"

I raised my nearly-empty tankard. "No, madam, thank you kindly. I will be retiring for the night, shortly. Shall I send a courier on the morrow to settle my debt?"

There followed a lengthy discussion in which she adamantly refused to charge the Dauphin of Terre D'Ange for a night's rent, and which I eventually won, after some good-natured insistence. Downing the rest of my wine, I set aside the empty tankard and headed upstairs.

The noise of the common room was only slightly muted when I reached the second floor, which I supposed was just as well; I had no intention using the room for sleeping. The room that Michel had chosen was tiny, meant for only one person, lit by a pair of lanterns on either side of the headboard. The bed was scarcely large enough for two to share comfortably. Before it, Michel knelt, waiting for me.

I gazed at him for a long moment, while the only thing to disturb the silence was the faint strains of the revelry downstairs, drifting through the walls. He knelt patiently, as trusting-- and tempting-- as always. I did not think I would ever tire of the sight of him kneeling to await my commands, and I felt my own desire growing more urgent.

However, I realized, subservience not what I truly wanted that night. "Stand up, Michel," I said quietly, moving toward him.

He obeyed, but he kept his eyes down, and he wasn't prepared when I kissed him; he let out a startled sound against my lips. I slid an arm around his waist and drew him closer, deepening the contact, hoping for more of the sweet, hungry depth of our earlier kiss. It was there, for an instant, in the way he shifted to press against me, yielding and eager at once. Then he reached up to clench my shoulder, and kissed me back in turn, with all the skill to which he'd been trained. All thoughts fled before the sudden, engulfing need that overtook me, and I pushed him back toward the bed.

We dropped onto the mattress, fumbling with each other's clothing; Michel wrapped his legs about my waist, deftly undoing the buttons of my shirt. His lips closed on my earlobe as I rocked my hips against him, and I groaned, clutching a fistful of the bedclothes. In a confusion of limbs we rolled to the side, and I found myself on my back with Michel trailing kisses and fingertips down my bare chest. His hands drifted lower, working at my clothing, while he ran his tongue under the waist of my breeches.

"Michel," I breathed, watching him. "You needn't..."

"I want to," he replied, smiling up at me before he took my phallus between his lips. _Elua_, I thought, biting back another groan. That sweet smile, saying that truly there was no where else he wanted to be, and then the slick, hot pleasure of his mouth on my flesh... I was nearly undone before he'd hardly begun. Fighting for control, I let my breath out in a shaky sigh and leaned back, threading my fingers into his hair.

I closed my eyes, knowing that I would not last if I watched him, and I let him perform the _languisement_ as the noise from the common room drifted through the walls. I bit the inside of my lip, sharply, while Michel worked between my thighs with lips and tongue and fingers. There was something different about it, some deeper sense of connection between us after the afternoon we'd spent as friends rather than lovers, and I wanted _more_.

"Enough, Michel," I said breathlessly, lifting his head. He smiled at me, eyes dark with desire, and it made things clench tightly, deep in my abdomen. "Elua," I muttered. "Take your clothes off, boy, before I tear them from you."

He slid off the bed to obey, and I shifted so that I leaned my shoulders back against the headboard. I watched him disrobe; his face was shadowed by the hair that fell forward to frame it, but when he straightened, bare skin gleaming in the lantern light, his eyes shone.

I held out a hand, wordlessly. He took it, kneeling on the bed to straddle my hips. "Closer," I told him, grasping his hips and drawing him forward. "Up, on your knees." He obeyed, gazing down at me with an expression of trust and need; a tremor shuddered through him when I closed my hand around his phallus.

I reached up to brush my fingertips across his lips. Guessing what I wanted, he drew them into his mouth, sucking gently. After a moment I pulled away, let my dampened fingers trail down the length of his spine and slide between his buttocks. He watched me with those dark blue eyes, wide and hungering, while I drew him closer and ran the tip of my tongue over his phallus. He gasped aloud when I closed my lips around his length and pressed my fingers into his body at the same time.

"Ah, my lord..." he breathed softly, and whatever else he'd meant to say melted into a groan instead. Hesitantly, he reached down to stroke his thumb over my cheek, as if unsure I would allow it. Growing bolder when I didn't stop him, he stroked my hair with his other hand. As I eased my fingers deeper inside him, he rasped out a harsh breath and clenched his fist in my hair.

The control I had taught Michel served him well, for he lasted longer than I'd expected. At the end, though, when my questing fingers found his hidden Pearl of Naamah deep inside, he spent himself with a hoarse cry. As he spilled his seed down my throat, body tensing under my touch, I could hear the wooden headboard creaking overhead, where he had gripped it with both hands.

I let him ease back when he had finished; he gazed down at me with an expression very akin to wonder. "Name of Elua," he said breathlessly. "My lord--"

"Quiet, boy," I said, for the second time that night, smiling to show him I was simply teasing. He laughed softly, and it turned into a gasp when I pushed at his hips, pressing him back against my aching phallus. I lifted him over my thighs with one hand and took myself in the other, gritting my teeth at the desire that throbbed beneath my skin.

It was a bit... challenging... without the ointment we frequently used. We had gone without it before, of course, but I had more of a care for his comfort, this time. We moved slowly, agonizingly so, but I counted it worthwhile to be able to see my own pleasure mirrored on his face. Downstairs, the musicians had begun a slower tune, and the beat of the drum carried clearly through the floorboards. It became the rhythm of our lovemaking, each slow beat measuring another rock of our hips together, a bit more of my length pushing inside him.

When I had finally fit myself completely within the heat of his body, he leaned forward to kiss me, firm and sweet, while his body moved over mine. Trusting to his skill, I let go of his hips and brought my hands up to bury them in his hair instead. He swayed against me with an easy, steady rhythm, muscles tightening around me. It was wordless and slow, and I never wanted it to end. I could feel that deeper emotion, binding us tighter, and it only goaded my desire further. He gazed down at me with blue-black eyes, and I knew he felt the same.

Toward the end, he sensed my growing urgency and rose up on his knees to move more easily. I clung to him as a drowning man clings to his rescuer, gasping against his neck as he brought me to a climax that, for a moment, seemed as if it would last forever.

Breathless, I leaned back against the headboard, bringing him with me. He leaned against my chest, resting his cheek against my shoulder. We lay there quietly for a long time, while I silently thanked Naamah for the adept whose service to her brought me so much joy. Idly, I let my fingers explore the lines of ink on his back, as the sweat cooled on both of our bodies. I gazed down at him, admiring the contrast of his dark hair against the pale skin of his shoulders, and then frowned.

"Michel."

"Yes, my lord?" His voice sounded drowsy.

I circled a fingertip around the top of his marque, where the ink stopped at the center of his spine. "Have my patron-gifts been so miserly, that your marque has not grown even a finger's width over the past months?"

"No, my lord! You are always generous," he said immediately, shifting to raise his head and gaze up at me. "But I... I have been saving every spare penny for the Academy fees."

I frowned again, brushing an errant strand of hair from his brow. "Even at the expense of your freedom?"

He smiled up at me, a smile with more than a touch of mischief about it. "For as long as you honor me with your patronage, my lord, I am in _no_ hurry to make my marque."

I had wondered about that, wondered what I would do when his obligation to Valerian House was repaid and he was free to leave Naamah's service if he chose. His reply warmed my heart, and I chuckled. "Good," I murmured, and kissed him, slowly.

When we parted, he said, quietly but firmly, "And ere you ask, my lord, I will not accept a patron-gift for tonight."

"Oh, no?" I said, wondering how he had guessed my thoughts. Like as not, he had that uncanny ability of all adepts to gauge their patrons' desires, whether in bed or outside it. "And why not?"

"This was not an assignation, my lord. We both wished for a night that was not about the Dauphin and the adept, and it was not. It was... you and I, no more, and I can not accept payment for a night that was _not_ spent in Naamah's service."

"Hmm." Idly, I toyed with that stubborn strand of his hair, twining it around my finger. For the second time that night, he had impressed me with his insight. "Shall I make an offering to her Temple, then, instead?"

"To Blessed Elua's Temple, my lord," he amended softly. "For it was he that we honored tonight."

"'Love as thou wilt,'" I murmured. I gazed into his deep, deep blue eyes, and thought about that deep, unnamed emotion that I had felt between us. "Very well, Michel; I shall pay a visit to Elua's Temple on the morrow. Would you care to accompany me?"

"Oh, yes, my lord," he breathed, just before I kissed him. He responded eagerly, and I could feel the tide of desire beginning to swell once more. I wanted to press him back against the bed and take him again, make him arch under me and utter breathless moans... But the weight of my responsibilities was beginning to return, slowly. With reluctance, I broke the kiss before it went any farther, giving him a rueful smile.

"If the Royal Guards have not yet come looking for me, they will soon. We should return to Valerian House before the rumors of the missing prince begin."

Michel laughed softly, and drew away obediently to don his clothing. I did the same... and though I knew it was no use wishing for the freedom to stay at the Cockerel with him all night, I wished it anyway.


	8. The Longest Night

**Author's note:** I had intended to post this on the actual Longest Night, but I finished it early and can't make myself wait till next week! I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas and a happy, safe holiday season. Joy to you on the Longest Night! :-)

Michel was ushered into my rooms just before the Royal Midwinter Masque was to begin. Adepts traditionally do not take assignations on the Longest Night, which was why he was attending the Masque as my guest, instead. He stood with his hands clasped before him in the manacles and chains of his costume, looking down at the lush carpet in my sitting room while I circled him and made my inspection.

Father's courteriere Favrielle had outdone herself, as she always did. As a penitent of Kushiel, awaiting his eternal punishment out of love, Michel bore fine, iron-black chains about his wrists. He wore a loose shirt of deep blood-red, the neckline hanging open in the front to grant a glimpse of his chest. Behind, it hung in artful tatters, as if he'd been thoroughly lashed. His marque was a shifting shadow through the shredded cloth, only hints of the ink visible. Below, he wore trousers of dark brown, the knees worn out as if by hours of penitent kneeling. They cut off at mid-calf, leaving his feet bare.

About his neck, two loops of fine chain, matching the matte black finish of the ones on his wrists, loosely circled his throat. His brown curls had been pulled back from the front and tied with a red ribbon that trailed down his back. Tiny braids were scattered in his hair, shot through with blood-red beads that glinted when he moved. He lacked only his mask.

"Well, Michel," I said finally. "What do you think?"

He looked up to meet my gaze. He was smiling, but I could hear his breath catch when he took in my costume. "I think that we shall turn more than a few heads, my lord. I am not the first Servant of Naamah to attend the Masque with the hand of a scion of Kushiel on the end of my leash. I think a great many people will know this, as well, and they will talk."

My grandmother, I knew, had taken Phèdre nó Delaunay to the Midwinter Masque one year, clad only in gauze and diamonds with a silken lead around her throat. Two generations ago, that was, yet I doubted it would remain forgotten tonight. There was no such leash attached to Michel, but he was right: anyone with an ounce of knowledge of my family history would see his chains as more than simple adornment.

"Let them talk," I said. I held up the mask to complete his costume: a simple domino of black, set with a sprinkling of garnets that evoked tears, or blood. He closed his eyes while I masked him. When I had concealed the ties within his hair, he gazed up at me; his eyes were shadowed by the mask, glinting with the barest hints of deep blue. I suddenly wished that he had arrived sooner, that we had more time to ourselves before arriving at the Masque.

"Turn around," I told him, and he did, smiling as he caught sight of our reflections in the dressing-mirror behind him. The fashion this year was for costumes based on Hellene mythology, I'd been told, but Favrielle was not known to follow the trends. Even she would not dare to attire a patron as one of Elua's Companions, but she had come close enough, dressing me as a member of Kushiel's court, in a costume of midnight-black and hints of blood-red. My mask was painted bronze, emotionless and implacable; three bronze keys dangled from a leather cord around my neck. The whip that hung coiled at my belt was my own, and I saw Michel's gaze flicker towards it, saw the tiny shiver that he sought to hide.

I stepped up behind him and slid my arms around his waist, gazing over his shoulder at our reflections. The costumes suited the pair of us, complementing each other in both color and style as well as subject. "You are a guest tonight, and not an adept," I reminded him in a low whisper, and added, "But I trust you will not forget who you belong to, boy." I slid one hand lower, stroking his phallus through his trousers.

Michel shivered in my arms, leaning back against my chest. "No chance of that, my lord," he reassured me breathlessly. I held him there until he was thick and rigid under my hand, while I watched his reflection bite his lip. I thought about the desire I could already feel in him, thought about him struggling with it throughout the Longest Night, and smiled. In the mirror, it was cold and cruel, a fitting accompaniment to my mask. I pulled back from him abruptly, willing away my own answering desire.

"Come along," I said wryly. "It won't do to be late."

Michel let out a shuddering breath and shot me a look so full of passion and need that I nearly stumbled. "As my lord wishes," he murmured. We left my chambers together, and I led him to the ballroom, thinking ruefully that my plan to torture him with desire had been too easily turned against me.

We arrived just as the celebration was beginning in earnest, the ballroom filled with all manner of brightly costumed guests. I daresay Michel and I brought a much-needed hint of darkness to the group; we certainly stood out against the bright colors that were in fashion this year. I could hear the murmurs beginning as our names were announced. We ignored them, and Michel followed me through the crowd toward the Queen and her retinue.

Father would not attend the Masque; he preferred to keep Elua's vigil on the Longest Night, with Joscelin... And though his foster-parents were abroad, visiting old friends in Aragonia, Father would spend the night at Elua's temple regardless. But Mother was there, of course, disguised as the Hellene goddess Athene in a costume cleverly sewn to resemble ancient armor, a short spear in the crook of her elbow. She turned to smile at us as we approached.

"Raniel!" She exclaimed, her voice half-scandalized, half-laughing. "Julien warned me your costume would cause a bit of gossip, but I never imagined..."

I swept her an overly gallant bow, smiling sidelong at my younger brother, who was clad as a Hellene god I didn't recognize, with a crown of olive leaves woven into his hair. "Joy to you on the Longest Night, Mother," I said. "May I present my guest, Michel nó Valerian." Further introductions were hardly necessary, but I made them anyway, for propriety's sake. "Michel; my mother, Queen Sidonie de la Courcel, and my brother, Prince Julien."

Michel gave a low bow, while Mother's dark eyes watched shrewdly. "My Queen, Prince Julien, I am honored. Joy to you both, your highnesses."

"The honor is ours," Mother said, with a warm smile. "I hope you will not be too disappointed by our celebration tonight... I understand the Night Court's Midwinter Masques will put any Royal fête to shame."

Michel returned the smile with an adept's easy charm. "My lady, the honor of your presence has already made this Longest Night's celebration far better than any other."

Mother laughed softly, eyes sparkling; I could tell that she liked him. "You are too kind, Michel; I pray that you enjoy the rest of the evening just as well." She glanced in my direction. "Behave yourself, Rani."

Beside her, Julien snorted, grinning; he knew well enough the rumors that had centered on my exploits after the last few Midwinter Masques. The Longest Night was known for allowing D'Angelines even more license in love than we usually enjoyed, but I had earned a bit of a reputation at court-- and the Night Court-- over the past few years. I gave him a half-hearted glare before taking my leave, leading Michel away to greet the other guests.

Michel murmured, "I had forgotten, my lord, the tales they used to tell of you in Valerian House, on the days after the Midwinter Masque." His eyes were shining; whether from meeting the Queen or from remembering those rumors, I was not sure.

I laughed softly. "Are your fellow adepts not as well known for their discretion as I was led to believe?"

"Not within their own walls, no," he replied, smiling.

I lifted a finger to brush along the outline of his jaw. "And what tales will be told there tomorrow, Michel?"

He held my gaze steadily. "None of you, my lord."

A servant approached, bearing a tray of tiny glasses of _joie_. I took two without looking and handed one to Michel, eyeing him thoughtfully. His promise of silence pleased me more than I would have expected. I had never before cared what rumors swirled around my visits to the Night Court, but I realized suddenly that I _did_ care to keep the details of my time with Michel private. As I had told him the night of my natality, what we shared was between us alone. I lifted the glass and murmured, "Joy."

"Joy," he echoed, and we drank. The cordial burned a trail of sweet fire down my throat. Michel gasped, coughing a bit.

I grinned at him, forgetting that it would completely ruin the effect of my mask. "Your first _joie_?"

"My first Masque as a full adept, my lord," he reminded me, when he had regained his composure. "I've never been permitted more than a taste, before."

I'd forgotten that he was so young. "Then you need another," I decided, as the cordial began to spread delicously warm tendrils through my limbs. I snatched two more glasses from a passing servant's tray, and Michel handled his second one a little better.

"Come," I said when we had downed the cordial. "We have more guests to greet."

We mingled amid the crowd of guests, greeting the peers of the realm. Every so often, I caught snatches of the rumors beginning in our wake: mention of my grandmother's name, and Phèdre's; of diamonds and a silken cord. The dancing began after an hour or so, and I lost track of Michel among the guests who claimed a dance with the Dauphin. It was nearing midnight when I found him again, making a laughing escape from the attentions of a young lady-in-waiting.

"Enjoying yourself?" I asked, when he met me at the edge of the ballroom.

"Yes, my lord!" He exclaimed, eyes bright behind his mask. "Though that last dance fair exhausted me."

I smiled. "Let's find a seat, then," I suggested. "The Sun Prince will make his arrival soon." We made our way along the edge of the ballroom, to a low couch that was still unoccupied. I sank into its cushions, and Michel knelt _abeyante _beside it.

I raised my eyebrows. "You needn't kneel, you know," I reminded him.

"I know," he murmured, smiling up at me. He folded his hands in his lap, making the chains around his wrists clink softly, and desire returned in a sudden surge, hard and fast enough to make my breath catch in my throat.

"Very well," I managed, my voice rough, and the sudden deep beat of the drum began, heralding the approach of midnight. As the scattered servants doused all the lanterns, spilling darkness throughout the ballroom, I reached down and rested a possessive hand against him, stroking his cheek with my thumb.

Michel leaned into the caress, and together we watched as the Winter Queen shambled into view, steadying herself against her staff. The Sun Prince arrived in his chariot, hung about with lanterns that illuminated him in the darkness; he pointed his glittering spear at the crone. Cheers went up around the ballroom as her ragged robes fell away, revealing the young girl beneath; the lights burst back into brightness, signaling the turning back of winter and the return of spring and hope.

I leaned forward, gripping Michel's chin and pulling his head back so I could kiss him, upside-down. The angle lent a delicious new sense to the kiss, making the familiar taste and feel of him seem strange and exotic. He made a soft, needy sound against my lips, and I drew away smiling. For all that it was past midnight, it was still early for the Longest Night... But I had had enough of the celebration, and I could see that Michel agreed. "Come, boy," I murmured, rising to my feet. He followed dutifully, and we made our escape while the revelers still cheered and raised their glasses of _joie_ in the first toasts of the new year.

It was strange to see the halls of the Palace so empty; all its usual inhabitants were at the Masque. My blood was pounding, throbbing in my loins and running hot with _joie_ and desire; by the time we reached my quarters, I had not a thought in my head except the need for the young adept at my side.

I shut the door firmly behind me, and caught Michel around the waist before he had gone two steps into the room. I pulled him back against me, turned to shove him roughly against the wall. He put up his hands to catch himself; I grasped his wrists and pinned them to the wall, stepping closer to press my hips against his.

"Elua," Michel gasped out, as I thrust my aching phallus against him. He had turned his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut. I let go of one wrist and tugged impatiently at the ties that held his mask in place.

"What do you want, Michel?" I asked softly, as the mask fell free and dropped to the floor.

"You, my lord," he replied, and I chuckled into his hair.

"No, boy, that's too easy," I scolded him. I nipped at the edge of his ear, making him shiver, before adding, "Tell me what you _want_."

Michel's hands clenched reflexively; I could feel the tendons in his wrist shift between his chains. "I want you inside me, my lord," he whispered.

"That's better," I allowed. "Keep going, boy."

He drew in a shaky breath, adding, "I want you to take me, make me _yours_, my lord," and I had to bite back a groan at his words. "I want to be under your control; I want to know that you can do anything to me you wish. And I want..."

It took me a moment to realize he had trailed off, so overwhelmed was I by the fire his words had lit inside me. "What else, boy?" I prompted him, my voice rasping in my throat.

He swallowed, and when he spoke, I had the sense that it wasn't what he had first intended to say. "The whip you carry at your side, my lord," he whispered. "I want you to use it until I scream myself hoarse."

Any curiosity about what he had originally meant to say vanished, burned away by the raging need his words ignited. "Name of Elua," I groaned aloud, through gritted teeth. There was suddenly nothing more important than giving him the dominance he'd asked for, and I was only too happy to oblige. I turned him around roughly, pushed him back against the wall once more, and kissed him. It was all passion and desperate need, that kiss, fueled by the knowledge that he wanted to surrender to me just as much as I wanted to conquer him. It was a fire that was consuming me in earnest, and I withstood it for as long as I could before I forced him to his knees. His hands were trembling as they went to my breeches.

There was no gentleness, no slow, sweet pleasure as there had been the last time; no emotion save raw, violent need. I seized his head in both hands and forced my length between his lips with a half-strangled groan. His throat tightened around the head of my phallus, sending a surge of pleasure through me. I took him hard, hands knotted in his hair, and it wasn't long before I spent myself, unable to hold back the cry that spilled from my lips.

I let him go then, bracing myself with one hand against the door, instead. Still on his knees, Michel gazed up at me through the curls that fell over his face, his careful queue torn to disarray by my hands. I gripped the whip that hung coiled at my side, the one bit of my costume Favrielle hadn't provided. His gaze followed my movements, and he licked his lips as I crouched before him.

"Until you scream yourself hoarse," I promised him quietly, using the coils of the whip to brush his hair back from his cheek. "Unless you've changed your mind?" He shook his head, and I kissed him before he could speak. He moaned into my mouth before I let him go.

I jerked my head wordlessly toward the bedchamber, and he went. I followed, shedding my mask and my disarrayed clothes as I strode behind him. He paused near the bed, waiting for my instructions; I pushed at his back, bending him over to grip the footboard in both hands. The shirt he wore, already tattered across his back, tore easily under my hands, exposing the sharp contrast of his marque's ink against his skin.

The sharp snap of the whip nearly drowned out his shuddering sigh as the first long welt bloomed across his shoulders. I kept on, gritting my teeth as desire returned in a slow, inexorable tide, growing more insistent with every lash-mark I laid upon his back. True to my word, I did not stop until Michel's pleas grew ragged and rough-voiced.

Then, finally, I tossed the whip aside and slid a hand around to the front of his trousers, finding him as swollen and ready as I was. He thrust helplessly against my hand with a moan, and I smiled. "Not yet, boy," I told him, reaching for the little jar of ointment on the dressing-table.

He unlaced his trousers unbidden, one hand still bracing himself against the bed, and I let him do it. There was one particular lash-welt that ran nearly the entire length of his spine; he stiffened beneath me, sucking in a sharp breath as I slicked over it with the healing ointment. It would sting like a line of fire down his back, I knew, and he was still shuddering with it when I eased a finger into the tight heat of his body.

He cried out, back arching at the contact. "Ah, my lord, please, _now_...."

"So eager," I murmured, smiling. I was hardly less so, but I knew it was too early; too soon for what I wanted. "You're not ready, Michel."

He twisted around to meet my gaze over his bare shoulder, eyes dark with passion. "My lord, _please_..."

I snatched a handful of the chains that still circled his neck, jerking him upright against my chest. "I will not be gentle with you, boy," I warned him in a low voice. I forced a second finger inside, making him shudder once more. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Eyes squeezed shut, he swallowed hard against his chains. "Yes..."

_Ah, Elua..._ I turned him around and kissed him, pulled him to the side of the bed and bore him down onto the mattress. He gave a ragged moan when I thrust into him, and I echoed it. Taut and unprepared, his body still tense from lack of release, Michel was almost painfully tight around me. A second thrust forced me completely within, made him cry out in mingled pain and ecstasy. He wrapped his legs about my waist; his hands moved as if to grasp my shoulders.

I seized hold of his wrists again, pinning him down as I drove myself mercilessly inside him. He began to plead desperately, and I do not remember if he begged for more, or for me to stop. But he did not speak the one word that would have stopped me, and I silenced him with a kiss, tasting my own seed and _joie._ When I wrapped a hand around his phallus, he let out a choked gasp, arching away from the kiss, and I lowered my head to kiss his neck, instead.

It took only a few strokes before he was shuddering in my grip, uttering helpless pleas for release. Any earlier, and I would have hushed him, simply to see how far he could be pushed before his control was shattered... But we had already passed the point where such games would do anything but frustrate us both.

"Yes," I whispered in his ear. He stiffened in my arms, crying out brokenly while his climax swept over him. I bit into the tender flesh of his neck, groaning as his body tightened convulsively around my phallus, and I followed him an instant later. For a long moment, nothing existed but the solid heat of his body beneath mine; all else was obscured by the blinding wash of pleasure that spilled over us both.

"Elua have mercy," I heard him breathe, almost reverently, as awareness slowly returned. I smiled against his shoulder, where I had collapsed limply atop him, then pressed a soft kiss against the bruise that was blooming on his neck. He drew in a sharp breath as I withdrew.

"Are you hurt?" I asked worriedly. In the absence of that crushing, overpowering need for dominance, the thought that I might have seriously injured him sent a cold chill down my spine.

Michel smiled up at me. "Oh, _yes_, my lord," he breathed, in a tone that said he wouldn't have it any other way.

I laughed softly, reaching up to brush at a few curls that clung damply to his forehead. "Come, then," I said, reluctantly forcing my tired limbs to move. "Only one of those welts I gave you has been tended properly."

Michel rose obediently and went to the washbasin to cleanse himself. I stripped the coverlet from my bed; it was stained with our mingled seed and sweat, and I left it in a heap on the floor for the servants to gather up in the morning. After I had joined Michel at the washbasin, we returned to the bed, and he sat with his back to me so I could rub the healing ointment onto his lash-marks. I was gentle with it; my desire for violent pleasures had been more than sated that night, leaving behind a protective sort of tenderness, instead. He bore it without complaint, sitting patiently with his head bowed, hair pulled over his shoulder and out of the way.

When I had finished, I bade him lie down, and went to extinguish the lamps. I came back to the bed in darkness, and Michel's fingers brushed against my cheek. "Joy, my lord," he whispered.

I had forgotten that it was the Longest Night. I leaned over in the dark and found his lips with my own. "Joy, Michel," I murmured. I pulled him into my arms, careful of the weals that crossed his back; he came willingly, making a soft, contented sound against my shoulder.

I stroked his hair, listening to his breathing ease into the slow rhythm of sleep, and replayed every moment of the night in my mind. _Joy_, the traditional blessing on the Longest Night...I had never failed to find it, year after year, in one way or another. The Night Court was full of adepts who could attest to that. But never had I experienced a night like this, where the joy of the season was highlighted by something _more_. That deep emotion between Michel and I still remained, I realized suddenly; though the night's pleasures had been more violent than tender, it was still there, a light in my heart like the gleam in his dark blue eyes.

I smiled into the darkness, and drifted into sleep.


	9. Secret Desire

**Author's note:** I wanted to try something a little different this time: this chapter is written from Michel's POV. I was surprised at how hard it was to switch POVs, though! I'm still not sure I'm entirely happy with it... Next chapter will return to the usual narration by Raniel, methinks.

Prince Raniel asked me, once, why it was that I would do anything for him. It was the only time I have ever dared to keep the truth from him. As a Servant of Naamah, perhaps I am better prepared to recognize love when I see it, feel it... And as a Servant of Naamah, I was in no position to lay that claim to a Prince of the Blood. _Love as thou wilt_, yes... But to be _in love_ was a rather different matter, especially where politics were concerned. So I held my tongue then, and could only hope that he would come to realize it himself, in time.

His reputation had preceded him, even before the night we met. Prince Raniel, whose one-quarter Shahrizai blood ran as hotly as any of his cousins'... He was well known for fairness, for a taste for control over his adepts, and for the self-control to drive any bed-companions nearly mad with need. The tales that were whispered after each of his visits were enough to keep me awake at night, aching with desire. Though I never saw him until I was ready to begin earning my marque, he was a constant presence during my training-- a shadowed, half-unreal power who threatened my dreams with the delicious promise of the lash.

I remember the way he looked at me, when I met him on the night of my entrance into Naamah's service. Confident and self-assured, striding into the room as if he owned it, dark eyes boring into mine as if he owned _me_. And though it took some time to learn how best to please him, that was how it began. I can refuse him nothing; he has never yet coaxed the _signale_ from my lips, and once I even held it back at his request, when another adept forced me too far. Heresy, the Night Court would call it, if they knew... a crime almost tantamount to rape, preventing an adept from giving the _signale_. But I know it for what it was: I trust him, trust that he will ask for nothing that I cannot give.

And so, of course, I accepted his invitation to dinner at the Palace without hesitation, though I was surprised. Of all the assignations we had enjoyed, I had never shared a proper meal with him. I spent the afternoon fretting over a wardrobe that hardly seemed fine enough to wear to dinner at the Palace, completely unable to focus on my studies.

When I arrived at the Palace, the prince let me into his chambers himself, dismissing my escort and ushering me into his sitting room. A table had already been set, laden with an elegantly uncomplicated meal. We sat, talking easily over the first course; he asked after my studies, shared a few anecdotes from his time in the Royal Court that day, and then, to my delight, engaged me in a discussion of Cruithne poetry.

As a discreet servant cleared away the last of the meal, leaving us alone at an emptied table, I watched Raniel carefully, wondering what he wished that night. His moods were as unpredictable as the sea; he was as like to pin me against a wall and take me without mercy as to surprise me with the depth of tenderness he kept hidden.

"Michel," he said finally. He used that low voice of command that was not quite a question but a demand for my attention, with every expectation that I would give it. After so long, it was still enough to send a shiver of delight down my spine.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Are you still planning to attend the Academy when your marque is made?"

I hadn't expected that question. "If I am accepted, my lord."

He swirled his glass of Namarrese wine. "And you still turn down all offers from patrons other than I?"

There was a hint of something in his voice; jealousy, perhaps? It made me smile, a little. "Yes, my lord," I said again. "Why do you ask?"

Raniel sipped at his wine, deep in thought. I waited silently, until he flicked dark eyes up to gaze at me across the table. "If you have no objections, Michel... I would like to speak to Dianne about purchasing your marque."

I blinked, not sure I had heard him correctly. Such a thing was not unheard of-- though most marques were sold before they began to be limned, some adepts were lucky enough to have a wealthy, loyal patron pay the remainder of their debt to their House. But... the Royal Family? I couldn't remember ever hearing of a purchase of that nature.

Another thought came hard on its heels, and I shivered at the dark implications of his suggestion. There is no slavery in Terre D'ange, but I knew what we were to each other. If he held my marque in trust for Naamah, I would _belong _to him. _Gods, _I thought, imagining it.

"Would that please you?" He asked, eying me with a twist of a smile on his lips; he knew it would.

"Yes, my lord," I said for a third time, unable to think clearly through the haze of desire that had descended upon me.

"Before you decide," he added, with a wry smile, "let me describe what I have in mind. It may not be completely to your liking." He took another sip of the wine before setting down the glass. "You will move into the Palace, of course, and be given your own quarters, though I don't think you'll use them very often. You will be free to continue your studies, with the Library at your disposal; I will continue to pay you, so you may work toward making your marque. And then, when your obligation to Naamah is repaid in full, you will be free to attend the Academy, if that is still your wish."

_Elua_, I thought, stunned.

"You needn't answer right away," Raniel said quietly, watching me. "If you need time to consider it, or..."

I rose abruptly and came around the table to kneel beside him. "No, my lord," I said softly. "There is nothing to consider. If you will have me, my lord, I would be honored."

Raniel smiled, looking suddenly relieved. I don't know how he could have doubted I would agree, but it was there in his expression. He bent forward to kiss me, drawing me up so I could straddle his thighs on the chair. His arms wrapped around me, trapping me in his lap. When we broke the kiss, he reached up to stroke my cheek, his dark eyes shining.

"You seem relieved, my lord," I murmured. "Did you truly think I would refuse you?"

"I was not entirely sure what you would say," he admitted, and smiled. "I nearly drove poor Hubert to distraction these past few days, with my worrying."

A sudden thought struck me, threatening to tarnish the moment. "Dianne may need more persuasion than you expect, my lord. You have been generous, but Valerian House has not earned as much from my service as it might have, if I had taken other patrons as well. The Dowayne will name a steep price."

"Money is no object, Michel," the prince murmured, holding my gaze steadily. "Dianne can name any price she wants; you _will _be mine."

I closed my eyes briefly as desire flared within once more. To belong to him, and him alone... _Elua_. There was only one thing I desired more, the one thing I could not ask of him. With this change in our relationship, even that secret desire might be fulfilled, one day.

Raniel's hand moved against my back, tracing the unseen ink through my shirt. "Your marque will have to be altered, of course," he murmured, breaking into my thoughts. "Since you will no longer be in Valerian's service. We can make an appointment with the marquist to draw a new design... Though I don't intend for you to complete it very soon."

"Good," I breathed, and he smiled. He shifted under me, pressing his rigid phallus against me, and I groaned. "Ah, my lord..."

His smile changed, became darkly amused, knowing. "Get up," he whispered hoarsely. I obeyed, gazing up at him when he stood. He pulled me into another kiss; it began slowly, sweetly, and quickly grew more desperate. It ended when he pushed me toward his bedchamber, eyes alight with the dark desire I knew so well.

There are entire texts in the Night Court devoted to the art of undressing a patron; I have studied them. To the best of my knowledge, Raniel has not... but there was no way to guess, that night. He bared my skin with an adept's grace, fingers caressing as he drew away my clothing, stilling me with a murmured admonishment when I moved to reciprocate. By the time he finished, however, all his patience was gone; he kissed me fiercely, then pushed me onto the bed. He paused to fetch the jar of ointment from a nearby drawer before stripping off his clothing and joining me there.

He had something different than usual in mind, I learned, when he lay beside me and slicked his hand with the ointment. He took my phallus in a firm grip, making me gasp, and leaned forward to press his own against me.

"Ah, Elua," I breathed, watching his phallus slide against mine. Soft skin over rigid flesh, feverishly hot with need... Gods, it was exquisite. Raniel let out a groan and shifted to lean over me. At his urging, I slipped a hand between us, twining my fingers with his while we thrust against each other. For a long, breathtaking moment, we were equally matched, lost in the pleasure of each other.... But I knew what it meant when the look in his eyes shifted, when he smiled slightly and tightened his grip.

It was almost too much, and I bit my lip. "My lord, please..."

He kept a steady rhythm, phallus clamped against mine between our hands. It was an agonizingly long time before he whispered the command that sent my back arching off the bed in a wash of pleasure.

I had never addressed him directly by name; it wasn't done, in the Night Court, unless a patron requested it. In Valerian House, that was a rare occurrence indeed. It slipped out, though, in that moment's unguarded pleasure; it seemed as natural as breathing to cry his name as he brought me to the height of my climax.

I didn't know what I had said until the all-consuming pleasure had ebbed. The prince was staring down at me, an unreadable look in his dark eyes, and I felt my heartbeat stutter when I realized what I had done.

"You think you have earned the right to such familiarity, boy?" he asked in a low voice.

Uncertain which answer he wanted, I hesitated. He reached up to kiss me before I could reply, threading a hand into my hair while he shifted between my thighs. "Mmm," he growled, his lips twisting in a dangerous half-smile. I felt the head of his phallus press insistently against my nether entrance. "Say it again."

"Raniel," I breathed, gazing up at him. His eyelids flickered, and he pressed forward, pushing the slickened tip of himself inside me.

"Again, boy."

"Raniel..." It came out almost reverently, my voice trembling, while he eased deeper inside of me. Hand still in my hair, he kissed me again, slow and in control, until he had buried himself to the hilt. Ah, it was good, so good to have him inside me again, filling me... His hair fell, a curtain of blue-black waves, to brush my cheek, while he rocked back and forth against me.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and gazed up at him, struck by the intensity of the connection between us. We moved in a slow, sweet cadence, and for a long time there was no sound but our own soft moans. He surprised me once again with his self control, and showed no signs of urgency until my phallus was once more straining erect between us. Only then did he begin to move more roughly, lowering his head to kiss me.

"Say it, Michel," he whispered against my lips, and for a confused instant I thought he wanted my _signale_.

"My lord?"

"No," he rasped. "Say my _name_, Michel." He reached between us to seize my phallus once again.

"Raniel!" I gasped obediently, my fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders.

He groaned, hand tightening convulsively around me. "Good, boy. Again." I whimpered in his grip and obeyed, helpless to refuse him.

"Again," he whispered, and withdrew nearly completely, leaving me feeling bereft. "Scream it for me, Michel." He drove himself deep inside, tearing his name from my lips in a ragged cry. I clung desperately to his shoulders as he moved sharply within me. His every thrust pressed against my inner Pearl of Naamah, sending flares of brilliant pleasure washing through me. At his urging, I gasped out his name again... Over and over, I cried it like a prayer, mingling it with Elua's name and helpless pleas until the words seemed to lose all meaning. Still with a hand tangled in my hair, Raniel tightened his grip, bringing a sharp, welcome enhancement to the pleasure that flooded over me. We finished at the same time, both of us gasping in shared ecstasy, everything forgotten but each other.

"Ah, gods," I murmured, as cognizance slowly returned. With an effort, I made my cramped fingers release his shoulders, and found blood under the ends of my fingernails. "Elua! My lord, I am sorry..."

He raised himself up on one elbow, enough to glance at my fingers. "No matter. It's only fair, I suppose," he added softly, chuckling. Carefully he eased his hand free of my hair, and brushed a few strands from my forehead, his eyes gazing into mine.

"Michel..." My breath caught in my throat and I stared up at him, wondering if he would speak the words I could not. The moment lingered, frozen between us as he rested his palm against me, gently stroking my cheekbone with his thumb. _Please, my lord, _I thought silently, watching the lantern light flicker in his dark Cruithne eyes.

He leaned forward to kiss my forehead, and the moment passed. "Come," he said, pulling away and sitting up, reaching for the nearby washbasin.

He was right, of course; my own seed was drying tackily on my abdomen. "As my lord wishes," I murmured, moving to obey. I hid away my secret desire once more, along with my disappointment. _Time enough for him to realize it,_ I reminded myself. _When he owns my marque, we shall have nothing but time..._


	10. Yours Alone

After a long discussion, involving complex records of the expenditures of Michel's training balanced against the amount Valerian House had recouped from his service, Dianne named her price. The figure was high; quite higher, I was sure, than any other adepts' marque-prices in recent times. I had expected as much, and only smiled. "The price is acceptable, my lady Dowayne," I replied, leaning forward to sign my name to the contract. "I shall send a man from the Palace with the payment, then... If there are no objections?" I added, glancing aside at Michel.

He met my gaze somberly. As a full adept in adulthood, he had the right to refuse the transfer of his marque, or to argue the price of it. There was no hesitation in his eyes, however; their edges crinkled with a tiny smile. "No objections," he murmured, and reached a graceful hand for the quill to sign his own name.

If Dianne nó Valerian felt any qualms about the fact that I hadn't even bothered to haggle over her price, she was too well-mannered to show it. "Very well, my lord Dauphin," she said, taking the contract when Michel had finished. She signed her own name in elegant script and handed it to her Second. "And the marque itself...?"

"Shall be altered accordingly," I finished for her. "I would be happy to send a copy of the new design for your approval, after we have seen the marquist."

"Excellent," she said brusquely, rising to her feet. Michel and I did the same, and the Dowayne fixed him with a stern, grey-eyed stare. "You will be living among the peers of the realm now, Michel. I trust you will not shame Valerian House by forgetting your training."

"He has brought only honor to your House, my lady," I said, feeling suddenly protective of _my_ adept. "I do not think that will change simply because he no longer lives here. If anything, the reputation of Valerian House will only advance."

Michel ducked his head, not quite hiding a pleased smile that tugged at his lips. Dianne nodded. "Of course, your highness. I will leave you to arrange for the move, but do not hesitate to ask for any assistance you may need." She left us alone in the Dowayne's study, and I turned to Michel. He was watching me with a sparkle in his deep blue eyes.

"Thank you, my lord," he murmured.

I smiled, reaching up to tuck an errant brown curl behind his ear. "It was only the truth," I said. "I have had no cause to complain of Valerian House's service... Certainly not from you."

"For the purchase of my marque, I meant," he replied. "I don't--"

I laid a finger over his lips. "You know how to thank me," I said in a low voice, and watched him shiver slightly. I bent forward to kiss him, and smiled at the flushed, unfocused expression of desire he wore when I let him go. "I'm sure you'll want to bid farewell to your fellow adepts," I said. "I'll send Hubert with a few servants to bring your belongings to your new rooms at the Palace. Take as much time as you need to get settled, Michel, but I will expect you to join me in my quarters tonight."

"I will be there, my lord," he breathed.

I left Valerian House grinning like a fool, and I was still smiling when I walked my horse to the Royal Stables at the Palace. _He is mine_, I thought, over and over, as I went to attend to my duties. I was good for very little work that day; supplicants, visiting delegates and nobles all blurred in my mind as they passed through the throne room that day. Father, who had known my plans, shot me a knowing, piercing-blue look from where he sat on the dais, but said nothing. I am sure I left quite a few peers wondering what ailed the Dauphin, when I was finally free to return to my chambers that evening.

Michel was not there yet; I left orders with the guards to admit him when he arrived. Mother had asked me to read over the draft of a trade agreement with Vralia, so I dropped onto the low couch in my bedchamber and made a half-hearted attempt at it. I found myself getting lost in thoughts of Michel, however; when I finally heard the door to my quarters open and close, I realized I had read the first pages three times with no memory of them.

He appeared in the doorway to my bedchamber, hesitating. I lifted a hand, beckoning, watching him cross the room toward me. He knelt in one smooth motion, and I leaned forward, pulling him into a kiss. He responded eagerly, gazing up at me breathless and flushed when I released him.

"So there will be no confusion," I murmured, "I thought it best to tell you what I expect of you." I leaned back into the couch, watching him carefully. The first term of our new relationship would be the most difficult to voice, and I swallowed hard before continuing. "First: You are _mine_, Michel. You are still in Naamah's service, but I hold your marque. If you wish to entertain offers from other patrons, I will not stop you, but I require that you inform me before doing so. Do you understand?"

"I understand, my lord," he replied softly. "But it will not be necessary."

I had expected that, but it was still a relief to hear it from his lips. "Good. Second, you are an honored resident at the Palace, now. You are free to go where you will, with or without my company. And you may spend your nights in your rooms, or in mine, as it pleases you."

Michel nodded silently, his lower lip caught endearingly between his teeth, an expression that was half nervous, half aroused.

"Third," I continued, letting my voice drop a bit lower, "On the nights you choose to spend with me, I will expect no less than the obedience you have always shown. I have already taught you the lessons I require of an adept, and I expect you to remember them, boy. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," he breathed.

"And last," I said, hearing the rough edge of desire in my own voice, "This new arrangement does not preclude the use of your _signale._ You will not hesitate to use it when need be."

He bent his head in acquiescence, causing a few of his loose brown curls to fall over one shoulder. I stared down at him, fighting back a sudden, raging need to take him, hard and mercilessly. _Patience,_ I reminded myself, and made an effort to unclench my fingers from the arm of the low couch.

"Do you have any questions, Michel?"

He lifted his head, deep blue eyes meeting mine. "How shall I address you, my lord?"

The memory of him gasping my name while he writhed beneath me sent an acute flare of arousal through me. With difficulty, I swallowed it back and leaned forward to caress his cheek.

"You are not a slave, Michel, nor a servant. In public and in private, you may address me by name, if you wish; I encourage it." I ran the tip of my thumb across his lips, then tightened my grip slightly, fingertips pressing into his jaw. "But when we are putting your Valerian-trained skills to use, I will expect you to speak to me with the same respect that you always have."

He nodded, and did not quite smile, but I recognized the sparkle that shone in his eyes. I kissed him again, slowly and patiently, then leaned my forehead against his.

"Who do you belong to, boy?" I asked in a whisper.

Michel replied without hesitation, just as quietly. "I am yours, my lord."

I let the corner of my mouth quirk upwards as I slid my hands into his hair. "Prove it to me," I commanded softly, leaning back against the couch and drawing him with me.

He did, moving at once to unfasten my breeches and take my erect phallus between his lips. I gritted my teeth and watched, stroking his hair, while the world faded away to nothing more than the wet heat of his mouth on my flesh.

"Elua," I breathed. I was intimately acquainted with the pleasure Michel provided with the _languisement_, had indulged in it countless times... But something was different tonight. So many times we had played the game of submission and mastery, so many times I had claimed him as my own, when we both knew it was only artifice. Now, tonight, it was true: no longer could Valerian House nor another patron claim his services as their own. In Michel's touch, his movements, the quiet sounds of pleasure that escaped him, I could sense a joy that mirrored my own. It was a subtle change, a hint of an elated abandon; as if only now he were free to surrender a last bit of himself that he'd always kept in reserve.

"_Mine_," I whispered, caressing the dark waves of his hair. He let out a soft moan that was half pleasure, half agreement, and that wordless affirmation was enough to bring me to a shuddering, gasping climax.

He eased back when I had finished, sliding from my slackened grip and leaning against my knees. One fingertip traced a delicate circle against my thigh, making me shiver as I caught my breath.

"Do you require further proof, my lord?" He asked, smiling slightly.

"No," I said in a low voice. He had proved himself without doubt, but I was not finished with him. I caught his wrist in one hand, feeling his pulse fluttering under my fingertips. "But I shall have it nonetheless."

The faint smile disappeared, replaced by a sudden flush of desire.

"Get up," I ordered, keeping my grip on his wrist as he rose obediently to his feet. I drew him closer, using the fingers of my free hand to slip under the hem of his shirt and brush along the waist of his breeches before moving lower. He shivered under my touch, clenching his fists.

"Ah, my lord, please..." It was barely above a whisper, and I directed a smile up at him that was more than a little cruel.

"More?" I asked, teasing. I grasped his hip and drew him closer, close enough that he could feel the heat of my breath through his breeches.

"_Please..._"

My smile widened, and I let my lips brush against the strained cloth in a feather-light touch before I rose to my feet, pressing a kiss to his lips instead. "Soon, boy," I promised in a whisper. I gave him a little push toward my bed, and followed behind him, leaving my clothing scattered across the floor as I went. Michel did the same without being told, and I went to the little table that housed my collection of _aides d'amour_. When I returned to his side, a few items in my hands, he was waiting patiently, his clothing in a neatly folded stack nearby. I set down most of my handful of implements and paused to simply gaze at him for a long moment, drinking in the sight of him. His bare skin was all pale gold and dark shadows in the firelight, a fascinating play of flickering light shifting across his body. He kept his eyes downcast, and I could see his chest rising and falling in a rapid, uneven rhythm of anticipation.

I stepped closer and pulled him roughly into my arms, trapping his rigid phallus between us while I trailed kisses from his jaw to his shoulder. "Gods," he gasped out, trembling with the effort of standing stationary in my grip. "Raniel..."

I chuckled against his collarbone, and lifted my head to look at him. His eyes were closed, his breath shaky. "Already you forget," I chided him softly, sliding one hand across his chest. "I shall have to punish you for that, boy." Before he could reply, I lifted my other hand and clamped the velvet-covered teeth of a pair of pincers around his nipple.

His eyes opened wide-- deep, startled blue, and he gasped, chest muscles tensing. I laughed again, softly. It had been a long time since we'd used these particular toys. "One more," I warned him, adding the second of the pair to his other nipple. I gave an experimental tug to the first one; Michel swayed on his feet, biting his lower lip hard enough to turn the flesh white.

"Better," I murmured. "But I am not finished." I took up the carven phallus I had brought; Michel watched wide-eyed as I slicked its ivory surface with ointment.

"Remember, Michel," I said, running my hand over the _aide d'amour_ with unhurried ease, "I require _control_. Have you forgotten that already, as well?"

"No, my lord," he whispered hoarsely.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Turn around."

He did, twitching nervously when I laid the tip of the ivory phallus against the base of his spine. I drew it downward, slowly, tracing the cleft of his buttocks until it pressed against his entrance.

"Control, Michel," I murmured again, pressing it up and into him. "You will do nothing unless I command it." He nodded, gasping as I slowly eased the phallus deeper. When it filled him completely, I let it go and turned him around again, dropping onto the edge of my bed as I did so.

"Now," I breathed, tracing a fingertip down the underside of his phallus. I let my hand slide lower, cupping his testes briefly before reaching back farther. Michel gave a strangled cry when I took his length into my mouth and began working the ivory in and out, all together.

"Ah, gods," he moaned, clenching helpless fists at his sides. His hips rocked back and forth in time with my movements, and I could feel the tension in his body, the struggle for him to hold back. It took nearly no time at all for his moans to become desperate pleas, to goad my own returning need. I let him endure for a few moments longer before I released him, turning him roughly once more.

He was trembling, his breath coming hard and fast between clenched teeth. I praised him in a quiet voice, tracing the lines of his half-finished marque with my fingernails before withdrawing the ivory from his body. I pressed a rough kiss to the curve of his buttock, letting my teeth nip at his flesh before guiding him down to me. A sharp tug on his hips brought me into the wet heat of his body; a second one drove me deeper, until he had taken my entire length within.

"Name of Elua," he said breathlessly, one hand gripping the bedpost. He planted his feet on the floor next to mine and took up a slow rhythm, shifting steadily in my lap.

"Good, boy," I groaned against his shoulder. "Keep moving, yes..."

Michel leaned back against me, his brown curls spilling over my skin. I kissed his ear, nipping along its outer curve with my teeth, and then let go of his hip to turn his head for a kiss. His left hand reached up to pull me deeper into the kiss; I snatched his wrist and guided his hand down. At my direction, he took his own erect phallus in his hand, and I closed my fingers around his. He groaned aloud, breaking free of the kiss as we worked between his thighs together.

I pulled my other hand from his hair and reached around his body instead, flicking lightly at the pincers that still bit into his skin. Michel cried out, his back arching away from my chest, and I bit back a groan of my own. The sound of his voice, pain and pleasure intermingled, desperately needy... _Elua_, I wanted more. I seized the pincers again and tightened my grip on his phallus with my other hand. "Now, Michel," I whispered, twisting the metal between my fingers..

He cried out, a ragged sound that was nearly a scream, as he gave in to the release I had denied him for so long. His body stiffened, tightening around me, and he rocked back against my chest, throwing his head over my shoulder as his climax took hold.

"Elua!" I gasped out, shifting my hands to his hips and grinding him against me. I pressed a rough kiss to the side of his neck, the only place I could reach, and let out a muffled cry of my own as the passion overtook me.

It was a long, blissful moment before I realized that my teeth were still clenched against his neck. Michel sagged against me, a small tremor running through his body in the aftermath of pleasure. I wrapped my arms around his waist and lifted my head; my teeth had left a vivid mark against his skin, a visible claim that said _Raniel's_. I smiled and pressed a light kiss over the bruise.

"Ah, Michel," I murmured, unwilling to let him go just yet. "I believe I shall keep you busier with Naamah's service now than you ever were in the Night Court."

He laughed softly. "As you wish, my lord," he said, twisting around to smile at me. "Though you may tire of my company more quickly, this way."

"Never," I breathed, and kissed him. We shifted, and I lay back on the bed, pulling him with me, until we lay facing each other. His breath hissed through his teeth when I released his nipple from the cruel teeth of the pincers. I bent my head to kiss the tender flesh, and repeated it for the other side, making another shiver course through his body. When I looked back at his face, his hair had fallen across his cheek, and I brushed it away gently. I needed to hear it again, and the question came out in a quiet whisper.

"Who do you belong to, Michel?"

He met my gaze steadily. "I am yours, Raniel," he whispered back. "And yours alone, for as long as you will have me."

There was something more behind his words, something in the cobalt shadows of his eyes: a hint of something I recognized, something with which I was intimately acquainted. For as much as he was _mine_, the reverse was true as well. Michel was the only one I wanted, the only bed-partner or companion or _friend_ for which I harbored any true desire. I belonged to him just as surely as he belonged to me, and he knew it.

It was a new perception for me, and I realized, gazing into his eyes, that I would not trade it for anything on earth.

"Yours alone," I echoed softly, and Michel's eyes sparkled.


	11. Light

**Author's note:** This chapter is a long one, and one of my favorites so far. And Damien's back, briefly! Thank you, again, to my reviewers- I'm trying to be more diligent about responding individually, from now on. :-) There's supposed to be a line break about a quarter into the chapter, but FF isn't cooperating. Sorry for any confusion where the scene changes!

I had neglected to close the drapery the previous evening; bright golden shafts of sunlight spilled across my bedchamber on the morning I realized I loved him.

I awoke slowly, my body filled with that special languor one enjoys after a night of pleasure. I had been blessed with that sensation nearly every morning since I purchased Michel's marque, and its source still lay beside me, deeply asleep. Moving slowly, so as not to wake him, I shifted to face him, propping myself up on one elbow.

It had been some few weeks since he came to live at the Palace, and he was fitting into his new life without trouble. His easy charm and pleasant nature earned him friends among the younger nobles, and a good reputation among the elders. Some few dared to let their disapproval of the Dauphin's common-born lover be known, but even they could not deny that Michel's conduct was above reproach. I had expected no less, but it was gratifying to see that realization dawning among the nobles.

What I had _not_ expected was the way my own life would change when he moved into the Palace. I still had my duties, of course; heir to my mother's throne, I would never be free of them. But they no longer seemed as onerous as they once did, now that Michel's presence was there to offset them. Sometimes, we worked together; he would bring his studies to the library where I pored over political writings and advice, and we would spend the day working in easy companionship. Other days, the task of receiving petitioners in the throne room was made more bearable by the knowledge that Michel would meet me for a meal, and more, when the day was over.

Even the endless plays, banquets and fêtes that served as entertainment for the peers of the realm no longer drove me to seek the alternative pleasures of the Night Court as they once had. Michel was delighted by the performances of the Royal Players, and I gained a new appreciation for such entertainment after seeing how he enjoyed them. As for the fêtes, we endured them together, sharing many secretly-amused glances at the frivolities of the guests, and the very fact that I was no longer _alone _at the gatherings made them more tolerable. I had not expected to forgo the Night Court completely; I had intended to continue my visits and bring Michel with me, but I had not felt the need to go to Mont Nuit since Michel left it.

A visit to the Night Court with Michel would be an enjoyable diversion, I mused; I still had access to the Shahrizai quarters at Valerian House, of course, but we needn't restrict ourselves to them. Now that Michel was no longer a Valerian adept, I could take him to any House I chose. An idea began to take shape, and I smiled as I planned it.

He looked younger when asleep, I realized, watching him. Lying on his back, he shifted slightly, turning his face towards me, and I smiled to see the look of complete peace on his expression. I reached out and eased a tendril of brown hair from his cheek, struck by his beauty. In the bright morning sunlight, his fair skin all but glowed.

My fingertip continued to follow a trail down the side of his neck, tracing the lines of his collarbone and the hollow of his throat. He let out a soft, drowsy sigh, not quite awakening yet, and I was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of feelings: tenderness, protectiveness, need... the emotion that ran between us like a deep, hidden current suddenly washed over me in a flood, strong enough to make my breath catch in my throat.

"Elua," I breathed, half in prayer, my fingertip stilling against his skin. Michel stirred again, and I leaned forward to press a gentle kiss upon his lips. I didn't linger, pulling away before he awoke and retracing my fingertip's path with my lips. I moved lower, stroking the muscles of his chest and leaving a line of kisses down his torso... hoping that, in my touch, he would feel the emotions that threatened to engulf me. "Mmm..." He shifted beneath me when I reached the sensitive skin below his navel, letting out a sound that was half moan, half sigh. I smiled against his skin and drew away the silken sheet to bare the rest of him. His phallus was already hardening, and he groaned aloud when I closed my lips around him. I felt it when he awoke fully, felt a slight tension replace the abandon of sleep, but he did not move. I took him slowly, unhurriedly, listening to his breathing grow rougher.

Without pausing, I slid a hand between his thighs to press them apart, then reached up to press a fingertip inside him. He gave a wordless moan, and I rolled my eyes upward to watch him.

He still had not moved, mostly, though the lean muscles of his outstretched arm stood out as he clenched a tight handful of the sheets. His other hand had reached up to push his hair out of his face; the dark curls spilled across the pillow, hints of auburn highlights glinting where the sunlight picked them out. His face was suffused with pleasure, eyes closed and head thrown back, a hint of a joyful smile on his lips. His fair skin was flushed with desire, and I could not look away- I had never seen anything so beautiful.

Michel moaned softly, a gentle protest, and I realized I had paused while I stared up at him. I tore my eyes away and resumed the _languisement_, easing a second finger within him.

"Ah, Blessed Elua," Michel gasped breathlessly, his hips pushing up off the bed. It was a cry of pleasure, not an invocation... But when he spoke Elua's name, I felt it- for an instant, the golden light of Elua's presence filled me, a warmth like the sun's, shining _within_... It was as if Blessed Elua himself had smiled upon us both. It lasted only an instant, yet it was replaced immediately: that space filled and overflowed with the deep, unnamed emotion that Michel and I had shared for so long. And in that quiet moment, with nothing else but _him _to claim my attention, I recognized it for what it was at last.

_Love._

_Ah, Elua, _I thought, in an echo of his cry. _I should have seen it. _Michel urged me on with a wordless moan, and I slid my fingers deeper inside him, searching for his hidden Pearl of Naamah.

My fingertips grazed against it, and Michel's body stiffened under me. "Raniel, please, Rani-" he gasped, and my name was cut off in a strangled cry as the pleasure took full hold, making his back arch in ecstasy. I did not release him until he relaxed onto the sheets once again, spent and trembling slightly in the after effects of pleasure.

I rested my forehead in the hollow of his hip, listening to our breathing grow even and slow once more. After a few moments, I felt him rest a hand on my head, stroking gently.

"My lord? Is anything amiss?"

I laughed softly and raised my head, meeting his deep blue eyes for the first time that morning. Something in my expression surprised him; I saw him blink, saw a hint of something flicker in his eyes. Hope, perhaps?

I drew myself up to lay beside him again, reaching out to caress his cheek. I gazed down at the boy who had captured my heart, and wondered how I had never known it sooner. _Tell him_, urged a quiet voice in my thoughts.

I opened my mouth, and hesitated. It was too new, too unfamiliar a thought, foolish as that sounds. Heir to the throne of Terre D'Ange, I had always obeyed the letter of Blessed Elua's precept... But never had the _spirit _of his words been made so clear to me. I understood the acts of love as well as any full-marqued Adept of the Night Court, but I realized suddenly that being _in love_ was a completely different feeling; one with which I was too unfamiliar to put into words, yet. I needed time.

"No, Michel," I murmured. "Nothing is amiss."

He smiled, and reached up to wrap his arms around my neck, drawing me down for a kiss. "Good," he whispered against my lips, and slid one hand down my side, then across my hip, and lower.

My phallus was achingly hard, but I pulled away from the kiss and caught his wrist in my hand. "Not yet," I told him, bringing his arm up to press my lips against the pulse in his wrist.

"As my lord wishes," he replied, bemused.

"I have plans for you tonight, boy," I breathed. "And I want you to spend the day knowing _exactly_ what awaits you." I kissed him, roughly, pinning him down and plundering his mouth before I managed to pull myself away. "I anticipate a long day, Michel; I will expect you to be ready for me."

Rekindled desire was a shadowy fire in his eyes as he nodded slowly. "I will."

"My lord?" Michel asked quietly, cutting into my thoughts. I blinked, turning away from the carriage window to meet his worried gaze.

"Forgive me, Michel," I murmured. "I've been rather rude, haven't I?"

He shook his head, leaning against the back of the seat across from me. "You needn't apologize, my lord. I was simply concerned. Are you certain nothing's wrong?"

"Yes," I reassured him. I had been lost in thought all day, and not merely thoughts of our planned assignation. My realization of that morning had weighed heavily on my thoughts- as I said, I was unused to the idea, and I spent much of my day contemplating my first true understanding of Blessed Elua's precept.

And not only that... I had spent just as much time wondering if Michel felt the same way. I could tell it worried him, however. All the way to the foot of Mont Nuit, I had hardly spoken a word; that was unusual, for me.

I held out a hand. "Come here, boy."

He took my hand obediently, easing gracefully across the carriage to straddle my lap, meeting my lips eagerly as I pulled him into a kiss. It began sweetly enough, the memory of that morning's simple pleasures still fresh in my mind. I could sense in the way he moved, though, his willingness to cede control. _I yield_ is the motto of Valerian House, and I knew he was unlikely to forget it, no matter who owned his marque. I was only too happy to oblige, and the kiss grew more heated as my hands roamed over his body.

The carriage began to slow, and I leaned back, straightening the buttons of his shirt before letting him slip back to his own seat. His breathing was unsteady, and even in the dimness I could see that his face was flushed with desire. I smiled and climbed out when the footman opened the door, then turned back to wait for him.

Michel paused on the step of the carriage, staring at me wide-eyed. "I- had expected Valerian House, my lord," he managed, with a soft, almost nervous laugh.

Standing in the courtyard of Mandrake House, I smiled and wordlessly held out my hand once again, wondering what he would do.

He closed his eyes briefly and let out a slow, shaky breath, before stepping down from the carriage and taking my hand. There was a sober look in his eyes, a mingling of trepidation and desire... and trust, most of all, when he met my gaze. I pulled him closer and slipped a possessive arm around his waist. After dismissing the carriage driver, I made for the entrance to the House, Michel still at my side.

To my surprise, we were met in the foyer by Damien nó Mandrake. The tall adept bowed formally to me, and raked his sharp green gaze over Michel as he greeted us. At my side, Michel tensed, pressing a little closer against me.

"Be welcome in Mandrake House, my Prince," Damien said.

"Damien," I acknowledged him, with a nod. "I'm surprised to see you here. I did not expect to find you serving at the door."

The Mandrake adept smiled, giving a graceful shrug. "When the Dowayne received your request this afternoon, he asked that I welcome you, since we have... interacted... in the past." He glanced at Michel again. "Come to show off your new purchase, my Prince?"

Seized by a sudden jolt of pride, and a bit of protective jealousy, I turned to smile at Michel, reaching with my free hand to tuck his hair behind one ear. "Perhaps," I admitted. Michel met Damien's gaze steadily, but I could still feel the nervous tension in his limbs.

"Mmm." Damien's smile deepened. "You've been fortunate, little one. Very few adepts are lucky enough to enjoy a life in the Palace; it seems to agree with you." He glanced back at me, and for an instant, a spark of shared understanding flared between us. "Though I must say, of the two of you, I envy Prince Raniel rather more."

Michel opened his mouth to reply, a tiny frown creasing his brow, but Damien had already turned back to me, dismissing him. "If you'll follow me, my Prince, I'll see that you are made welcome while I fetch the contract."

"Certainly," I said, and he led us down a broad hall to the chamber I had reserved for the evening. It was located deep within the House, and we passed quite a few Mandrake adepts who eyed Michel like a cat watches its prey. He kept his gaze downcast, but he knew when their eyes were on him; I could feel him tense against me whenever one approached.

At length we reached the room that had been set aside for us; the fire had already been lit. Damien moved to the bottle of wine that had been set out, while I pulled a chair from the small table and sat. Michel sank to his knees beside me.

The Mandrake adept approached with a wineglass in each hand, and offered one to me. As I sipped it, he raised an eyebrow at me, gesturing with the other glass in Michel's direction.

Michel looked to me as well, waiting. I took another sip of wine and waved a negligent hand. "As you like," I told Damien.

The adept smirked and kept the glass for himself, staring down at Michel. "I think not," he murmured. Michel bowed his head wordlessly under the weight of Damien's gaze. It would have been unprofessional of a Night Court adept to wink at a patron, but the knowing smile that Damien gave me, hidden from Michel's sight, held the same meaning. "I'll return with your contract shortly, my Prince," he said, his expression smoothing back to seriousness before he departed.

Michel relaxed visibly when the adept had gone, and looked up at me. "My lord, what Damien said... I did not agree to the purchase of my marque simply for the privilege of living in the Palace."

"I know you didn't," I said, and the question I had pondered all day resurfaced: I knew, now, why _I_ had asked to purchase his marque... but had he accepted for the same reason?

I set my wineglass aside and regarded him seriously. "Why _did_ you agree to it, Michel?"

His eyes widened, and he hesitated. "...I..."

My heart skipped several beats, waiting for him to voice what I had come to suspect. He bit his lip and fell silent.

"I will ask you again, boy, before the night is done," I warned him softly. "And you _will_ have an answer."

"Yes, my lord," he whispered, and then ventured, "Is Damien...?"

"Joining us?" I finished. "Would you like him to?"

He shivered, and murmured, "He frightens me, my lord," which didn't answer my question.

"I know." I leaned forward to stroke his cheek. "I rather like to see it. You do not fear me."

Michel's lips quirked in a tiny smile, and he began to reply, but the door opened to admit Damien, our contract in his hand, and Michel fell silent. Damien brought me the parchment and then folded his arms across his chest, directing a piercing green stare at Michel while I read over the contract. It was a simple arrangement, since no Mandrake House members were involved in the assignation; merely an agreement to use the room and its accoutrements responsibly, and to pay the proper fee. I signed it, then handed the parchment and quill to Michel. Trusting my judgment, he signed without reading it, and held it up to Damien.

"Thank you, my Prince," the adept said. "Please do not hesitate to ask, if there is anything else you require. Naamah's blessing be upon you both." With a last, perceptive smile, he departed, closing the heavy door behind him.

I gazed down at Michel for a moment, admiring the sense of submission that was evident in the very lines of his body. "Go lock the door," I ordered. Valerian House knew better than to intrude on an assignation, but I was not certain of Mandrake's policy- I did not want some well-meaning acolyte attempting to bring more wine, or some similar interruption.

Michel slid the heavy bolt across the door, then turned back toward me. I pointed toward the flagellary cabinet, and he went obediently to open its doors. He twitched nervously when I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist.

"Tonight," I whispered in his ear, "every pain I inflict on you will be at your own request, boy. You will choose the manner of it, and you will beg me for the privilege of it, until _I_ decide that you have had enough. Do you understand?"

A shudder coursed through his body, and his voice was hoarse as he breathed, "Yes, my lord."

I loosened my grip on his waist, nudging him closer to the cabinet. "Then choose, boy."

Like any well-stocked flagellary at Valerian House, the cabinet was full of all manner of _aides d'amour_, arranged neatly on shelves or hanging from hooks, all polished or oiled, and shining. Metal edges glinted sharply, supple leathers gleamed with a dark promise, and ivory and wooden implements almost seemed to glow in the firelight. I moved to the side and watched Michel peruse them.

There was one difference between the two Houses, however. On the center of the lowest shelf, at waist height, rested a small leather case. Valerian kept their flechettes locked away unless a specific patron received permission to use them; it seemed that Mandrake House took no such precautions. Michel's fingertips brushed across the top of the case, and I felt my stomach flip nervously, even as a surge of desire flared through me. I had never used the delicate, razor-sharp knives, finding my pleasure in other ways, but the thought was tempting.

Michel moved on, though, inspecting a few more items before selecting a slender leather whip. Not surprised, I smiled; I knew he was fond of the lash. "Anything else?" I asked.

He shook his head, and I held out my hand; the coils of the whip were cool and smooth when he placed it in my palm. "Go on," I murmured, giving him a little push away. I turned my back and closed the cabinet doors; I was acutely aware of my own growing desire, of the soft rustle of Michel's clothing as he crossed the room behind me. When I turned around, he had moved to a tall wooden post that was anchored to the floor, near one wall. I leaned back against the flagellary, arms crossed, and watched him disrobe, admiring the grace with which he moved, and the lean, slender body that was revealed. When he'd folded his clothing and set it aside, he knelt in the space between the post and the wall, hands folded patiently in his lap.

I went to him, set the whip aside and drew him to his feet. The post served as a whipping cross, of sorts, with the benefit of allowing access to both the front and rear of the body. Michel stood calmly while I took the manacles chained on the post and the wall, clamping them around his wrists. He was left with arms outstretched, enough slack in the chains to allow a little movement, not enough for him to avoid the attention I planned to give. He looked up at me, eyes dark and trusting, and the look sent a shiver through my body. Even knowing what was coming, he trusted me completely. I realized suddenly that the fear Damien inspired in him was incomparable to this unconditional trust between us. Any Mandrake adept would have the training and ability to intimidate; but _I_ was the only one he looked at with such trust.

_Blessed Elua, let me be worthy of it,_ I thought, kissing his forehead gently before letting him go.

"Now," I murmured, pacing slowly around him. I grasped his hips and pulled him back into my arms. "What is it you want, boy?"

"The- the lash, my lord..."

"Of course." I tugged at his hips again, grinding my erect phallus against his buttocks, and he moaned softly. "But you haven't earned it yet. I told you: if that's truly what you want, you will beg for it."

He did, beginning to plead in a breathless voice. I let him go and moved away, still out of sight, to remove my shirt. He was expecting my return to bring the touch of the whip; when I brushed my fingertips against his spine instead, he flinched, then let out a half-frustrated moan.

"It won't be that easy, boy," I admonished him with a smile. "I'm not yet convinced."

His voice growing a bit desperate, Michel continued to beg, while I trailed feather-light touches over his back, tormenting him with attention far more gentle than he wanted. Every so often I would move away, letting him think I fetched the lash; he wisely did not try to glance over his shoulder when I did. His pleas grew more fervent as I continued to tease him, until finally I returned to him with the whip tucked under one arm and my fingers slicked with ointment. His voice cut off in a strangled gasp when I pressed his buttocks apart and pushed my fingertips inside him.

"You're doing well, boy," I praised him softly. "But I did not tell you to stop."

With a helpless moan, Michel resumed his pleas, body swaying to match the movements of my fingers within him. Finally I gave in, pulling away and letting the lash snap across his back without warning. He jerked against the chains and cried out, more in shock than pain, then drew in a sharp breath as the fresh weal began to sting.

"More?" I asked softly, waiting.

"Gods," he gasped. "Yes, my lord, please, again-"

I obliged, sending the whip whistling through the air to sear another long line across his back. Michel groaned, shuddering. I ground my teeth against the rising swell of desire and kept going. I forced him to beg for every lash, and I drew it out as long as I could. It took a long time before his voice began to falter and I decided he'd had enough, but he bore fewer welts than he might have. By then, my erect phallus was throbbing with unfulfilled need, and I wanted almost nothing but to bury myself within the heat of his body...

...Except that I still needed an answer to my earlier question.

I set the whip aside and moved to stand in front of Michel. Trembling a little, he stood with arms hanging limply from the chains, his breathing uneven. A faint sheen of sweat shone on his skin, making a few curls of brown hair cling damply to his face. He looked up to meet my gaze, desire still burning in his deep blue eyes.

There was a thin line along his left side, where once the tip of the lash had curved around his body to leave a biting kiss along his ribs. I reached out a fingertip and followed the welt, watching him grit his teeth at the touch.

"Now, boy," I murmured. "I am still owed an answer. _Why_ did you accept my offer for your marque?"

Michel inhaled sharply, and looked away. I caught a handful of his hair and jerked his gaze back to mine. "Answer me," I warned him in a low voice.

"I... my lord, I can't!" He said, desperately, and I swallowed back a wave of disappointment. My burning desire had been all but forgotten; suddenly the only thing I needed was to hear the words he was holding back.

"Michel." It came out as a whisper, and so did the word I had never used on an assignation such as this one. "Please."

He squeezed his eyes shut; when he opened them, they glimmered with unshed tears. "Because- I love you, Raniel. Elua help me, I have loved you since the night I entered Naamah's service."

His admission was like a weight lifted from my shoulders, like a dousing of cool water after a day in the hot sun. I could not hold back the smile that pulled at my lips.

"Ah, Elua," I breathed, reaching up to gently thumb away a single tear that had escaped him. "I love you too, Michel."

It was as if dawn broke suddenly in the dimly lit room, suffusing his face with a joyful light as he stared up at me. "Truly?" He whispered, as if he didn't dare believe it.

For answer, I bent and kissed him. He moaned into my mouth, pressing as close to me as his chains would allow. _Name of Elua_, I thought fervently, wrapping my arms around him. I could sense that same joy I'd seen in his expression, could almost taste it in the way he kissed me in turn.

I wanted to feel his hands on me, and I tore myself away to free his wrists from the manacles. He dropped his head to lean against my shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against my chest. When I'd loosed his bonds, I kissed him again, and he slid one hand between us to grasp my phallus. I let out a muffled groan, and the sweetness of the kiss was quickly eclipsed by the return of urgent, desperate need. We stumbled across the unfamiliar chamber, neither willing to let go of the other, until we found the bed and I pulled him down with me.

"Ah, gods," Michel gasped against my lips, as my fingers found his nether entrance. Reluctantly, I let him pull away from the kiss; he sat up to straddle my hips and guide my phallus into himself. I thrust upwards sharply, surprising him, filling him completely, and he cried out. Biting his lip, he braced his palms on my chest and began to rock his body against mine, his hair spilling down to frame his face and sway with his movements. Gazing up at him, I groaned aloud. Elua, he was beautiful, and the look in his eyes...

Transfixed by the sight of him moving above me, I had to fight for the control that I usually boasted- I did not want this wondrous night to end too quickly. Gritting my teeth, I grasped Michel's hip in one hand and his phallus in the other, and felt him change his rhythm slightly in response. We moved this way, together, until his climax took us both by surprise. He cried out, back arching and body tightening almost unbearably around me, as he spilled his seed across my abdomen. I drew in a hissing breath and roughly pulled him down to me, rolled so that I could press his lash-marked back against the bedclothes. Michel wrapped his legs about my waist, gazing up at me with those deep blue eyes I knew so well.

I braced myself on my forearms, stroking his hair with one hand as I took him with a slow passion. Neither of us spoke; the only words that mattered had already been said. It was enough to look into his eyes, to see reflected there the love that I felt. When I could hold back no longer, Michel clung to me as if he would never let go, gasping in my ear as I spilled my seed into the warmth of his body.

Afterward, we lay quietly in each other's arms for a time; I listened to the crackle of the fire in the hearth and Michel's steady breathing, giving silent thanks to Elua for the priceless gift that had been given to me this night.

"Michel."

Near sleep, he looked up to give me a drowsy smile. "My lord?"

"Forgive me," I murmured. "I should have known it sooner."

He shook his head, that sweet smile never wavering. "Love as thou wilt," he replied softly. "And you did, knowing it in your own time. I am nothing but grateful for it."

"Hmm." I toyed with a tangle of his brown curls that fell across his throat. "Since the night I paid your virgin-price, truly?"

"Yes, my lord." His smile turned rueful. "Though I did not realize it, I think, until your trip to Marsilikos."

"Why didn't-" I began to ask, and then fell silent. I _knew _why he had never spoken of it.

He answered me regardless, his voice soft. "You are the prince, the heir to the throne of all Terre D'Ange. I was only the young adept who was fortunate enough to catch your interest. It was not my place to lay such a claim to you."

I knew it already, but the words were still painful to hear. "No longer," I told him firmly. "Michel... never feel that you cannot tell me something- _anything._ However often you may kneel at my feet, your _true _place is at my side, and I would not have you hold anything back because of our differences in station."

"I will remember, my lord." His lips curved into a smile. "If you will do something for me."

I raised a teasing eyebrow. "Perhaps," I said, jesting- in that moment, I would have given him Terre D'Ange itself, if he'd asked for it.

"Tell me again," he breathed, cobalt eyes shining with the same joyful light I had seen in him earlier.

"Michel nó Valerian," I said, stroking his cheek, "I love you." I kissed him, and let my hand drift lower; he moaned helplessly as I reached between his thighs, bringing him once again to readiness. For the second time that day, my lips followed the same path my hand had traveled, feeling his breath quicken under my touch- but before I could begin the _languisement_, he reached out and pressed his fingertips to my cheek, drawing my gaze up to his face.

"I love you," he echoed softly. Simple words, but ah, Elua! they lit a jubilant fire in my heart. I smiled at him and lowered my head; and neither of us spoke again for a long, blissful time.


	12. Shadows

**Author's note:** Sorry this took so long; I had to rewrite it 4 or 5 times before I was satisfied with it. Please be warned, things are a little more intense than previous chapters... though if you've read this far, it shouldn't bother you too much, heh. Enjoy!

In all our time spent together, everything that Michel had surrendered to me, there was one thing I had not yet had from him. I had never heard him utter his _signale_ in earnest, though there had been a time when he held it back at my urging.

Now, as he sat across from me on the terrace outside my sitting room, I knew that I would have it from him tonight, and the thought sent a thrill of arousal through me. To know that I would push him to his limits, to see just how far he would let me go... _Elua_. In the few weeks since our visit to Mandrake House, the tone of our nights together had changed a bit... Lost in the novelty of our newly-professed love for each other, our lovemaking had been less rough than usual. Tonight, though, I could feel the heat in my Shahrizai blood, and the spring evening's air was suddenly not enough to cool me. I sipped at my chilled wine in an attempt to clear my head.

"Have you ever given your _signale_, love?" I asked, when I felt more in control of myself.

Michel smiled across the table at me, reaching for a slice of bread. "I am no _anguisette_, my lord," he said. "When I accepted other patrons, there were some who could force it from me. There are things I have allowed only you to do." He paused, then added quietly, "And some things they tried, that you have not."

"Hmmm." I raised my eyebrows, feeling my curiosity piqued. "Be careful, boy; I'm like to take that as a challenge."

"Are you?" His smile widened. "You _did _promise me, my lord," he reminded me.

"So I did," I said. I gazed out over the private garden, staring unseeing at the deepening dusk while I searched for the best way to speak my thoughts.

"I have never entered an assignation with the _intention_ of forcing a _signale _from anyone's lips, Michel," I said at last, turning my gaze back to him. "But I have a mind to fulfill that promise tonight, if that would please you."

He blinked, and nearly dropped his spoon. I saw in his eyes an answering heat: he shared my hunger to know how far I could push him. "I..."

I waited, knowing what he would choose, and I watched him impassively while he drew in a shaky breath.

"Yes, my lord," he said finally, in a near-whisper.

"Good," I said, and then gave him a wicked grin, gesturing to his plate. "You'll need your strength, boy. Eat."

He obeyed, and I followed my own advice, turning the conversation to lighter subjects. We spoke of inconsequential things as we ate, as if our earlier words had not been spoken, but the dark promise of the evening hung over us like an unseen shadow, and I was acutely conscious of the desire that throbbed through me.

Darkness had fallen completely by the time the servants had cleared away the last of the meal and lit a scattering of oil lamps around the terrace. A few servants hovered nearby in case they were needed; I dismissed them, and turned back to gaze at Michel.

His dark hair had grown long enough now that he could weave it into a loose braid that fell just past his shoulders; a few unruly curls still escaped the front to frame his face. It gave him an almost delicate appearance, and it flattered him; but I knew I would want to sink my hands into those curls before the night was over.

"Come here," I ordered, in a voice gone low and rough with desire. Michel stood immediately and came around the table to kneel beside my chair, then turned around when I gestured. I tugged at the ribbon that secured the end of the braid, and spent a quiet moment freeing his hair. The night insects buzzed quietly in the garden beyond as I worked, and in the tiny pond, a few frogs began to croak their songs. It was soothing, calming a bit of the pulsing desire in my veins, and I smiled when I had finished.

"Much better," I murmured, when his hair fell loose about his shoulders. "Get up." Michel rose, and I grasped his hips before he could turn, pulled him down to my lap. He shifted to the side, turning to see my face, and I kissed him fiercely. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him closer, groaning as he pressed against my phallus; under my hand, he was as hard as I was, and his fingers tightened convulsively on my arm as I stroked him through his trousers.

We broke the kiss, and he leaned his forehead against mine, eyes squeezed shut as my hand continued to work on him.

"Did you obey my earlier request, boy?" I breathed, moving my hand to the laces of his trousers.

"Yes..." He let go of my shoulder to help unlace them; I slapped his hand away and did it myself, then lifted him back onto his feet, tugging at the trousers. Michel trembled, fists clenched at his sides, while I ran my hands over the muscled curve of his buttocks, then reached lower. True to his word, he had followed the instructions I'd sent with the invitation to dinner, and prepared himself for the passions he'd known we would indulge. I found his entrance already slick and ready; I slipped three fingers inside him with ease, making him groan.

"Good, Michel," I praised him softly, and withdrew, pressing a kiss to the small of his back before I stood up. With one hand, I began to unlace my own breeches; with the other, I pushed him at him, forcing him to bend and brace himself over the table.

We both gasped as I pushed inside him. In contrast to the cool spring breeze, his body felt afire, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from crying out as the tip of my phallus entered that throbbing heat. I pushed at his back again, harder, and he clenched fistfuls of the table cover as I pressed his chest flat against the surface. With a single thrust, I buried my entire length within him, and Michel let out a choked cry.

"Yes, boy," I ground out, through clenched teeth. "I want to hear you scream." I felt a smile tug at my lips, imagining the sound of his cries drifting through the night. "Let the entire Palace hear you."

He shuddered beneath me. "My lord-"

"Louder," I told him, my smile widening. I had chosen these rooms for their privacy, and the garden no less so; it was unlikely that anything we did here would be heard outside the walls. But if Michel did not know it, I felt no need to reassure him. I drove forward again, and he moaned.

"Not loud enough, boy," I admonished, and my next thrust was received with a breathless cry. Bracing one hand on his back to hold him down, gripping his hip with the other, I took him with slow, hard thrusts, unhurried, knowing that the evening was just beginning. Obediently, Michel cried out every time my phallus sank into him, and his cries quickly turned to pleas as his own need grew. I ignored them, keeping my pace, until he reached his climax with a desperate gasp, his body tightening around me.

I bent forward and pulled his head up sharply. "I do not recall granting you permission, boy," I hissed in his ear. I would have to punish him for it, and the thought sent another thrill through me, but it could wait. I pushed him back down to the table, and let my own control go. A few more thrusts were all that were needed before I spilled my seed into him.

When I had caught my breath, I moved away, and pulled him upright. I let him straighten his clothing as I did the same with my own, then turned him to face me. He didn't meet my eyes.

"Forgive me, my lord," he said in a quiet voice. "I... I should have waited for your command." I could hear a true hint of shame in his voice- we both knew his control was better than that. But as I looked at him silently for a long moment, I wondered if he had deliberately sought the punishment I would give him. Such games were not usually Michel's way, but we both knew that tonight was different. My thoughts raced as I tried to gauge his intent, to find the best response.

"Go inside," I said finally, careful to keep my voice cold. "Undress, and wait for me in the bedchamber."

He murmured assent and slipped away, ducking through the arched doorway off the terrace. I dropped back onto my chair, shivering a little in the night's growing chill, running my plan for the next few hours through my mind.

I had told him the truth, earlier: in the seven years since I had reached my majority, I had never taken an adept with the intention of forcing his or her _signale_. Though some patrons make nearly a game of that pursuit, I had never felt the need to push my adepts to the edge of their tolerance. I found more pleasure in the knowledge that they were under my control, and that they enjoyed- at least a little- what I did to them. And so, it was a new feeling to sit there and know that I had such a specific objective for the night- but the pulse of desire was already beginning to throb again in my veins as I envisioned how I would achieve it.

After a few moments, I rose and followed Michel indoors. In my bedchamber, he knelt dutifully as I had ordered, _abeyante _and naked beside the fire that crackled in the hearth.

_How far will he let me go?_ I wondered again, gazing at him from the doorway.

Michel glanced up when I approached, and whatever he saw in my expression made his breath hitch. "What... what will you, my lord?" He asked in a near-whisper.

I raised an eyebrow. "I would have you be silent, and wait as I bade you," I said mildly.

He swallowed, and bent his head obediently. I tore my eyes away, and walked past him to the table beside my bed. In the drawer that housed our _aides d'amour_, I found the slim, carved wooden case that I had placed there earlier. The order I had commissioned from the craftsman had arrived some days ago, perfect down to the last detail, but I had waited for tonight to reveal it. I set the case atop the table and withdrew a few more items. At the edge of my vision, I could see Michel twitch nervously when I shut the drawer sharply.

He didn't look up as I approached; I could see his breath quicken as I drew closer. I crouched in front of him, tilted his chin up with a fingertip so I could see his face.

"Do you trust me, love?" I asked quietly.

His eyes sparkled at the pet name I'd begun to use. "With my life, and my heart, my lord," he answered immediately. I'd known it, but the plans I'd formed for the night seemed to require an audible reminder, for both of us.

I kissed him, a long, slow kiss, though the need throbbing in my veins urged me to do away with tenderness. _Soon enough_, I reminded myself, and kissed him deeper before I let go.

"What is your _signale_?" I whispered against his lips.

His breath was warm against my skin as he answered in the same manner. "Shadows, my lord."

"Good, boy." I leaned back a little and tucked his hair behind one ear; it tumbled forward again, wavy silk against the backs of my fingers. "I will hear it again before the night is over."

Something dark flickered in his deep blue eyes, a mingling of fear and longing visible for an instant as he nodded slowly. I let the corner of my mouth quirk into a cruel smile, and held up the silken cord I'd brought. He let me bind his wrists, head bowed forward and hands held up together, as if offering me a gift. They trembled a bit as I tightened the knot.

When it was done, I stood and moved behind him. I reached around to tie a length of black silk over his eyes, and Michel tensed; he did not like being blindfolded, which was partly why I had chosen it. When it was secured, I stepped back to eye my handiwork.

"Ah, Elua," I murmured, gazing down at him. "I love to see you like this, Michel; bound and helpless..."

A shudder coursed through him at my words; he turned his head slightly, blindly following my movements as I walked around him again. His phallus was beginning to stiffen again, and the sight made me smile.

"...Willing to do anything I command," I continued softly, stopping in front of him once more. I reached down to stroke his hair. "Aren't you?"

"Yes, my lord," he whispered, and a jolt of desire burned through me, enough to make me regret having spent myself so recently. I would have forced the _languisement_ upon him then, if it wasn't so soon after our activity on the terrace. _No matter_, I thought. _There will be time. _

"Get up," I said harshly, seizing his arm when he rose. I guided him toward my bed, left him standing there blindly while I took up the ivory phallus and worked ointment over its carven surface. "I've decided that I like having you ready for me whenever I decide to take you, boy," I said in a conversational tone as I worked.

Michel moaned softly at my words, and did not resist when I turned him around and bent him over the bed as I had over the table earlier. He held himself up on unsteady, bound hands and kept silent as I worked the ivory shaft into him, though his every breath rasped in a near-groan.

When I was satisfied, I left the carved toy within him and grasped his shoulders, pulled him upright and back against my chest. He gasped at the sudden shift, and I gave him no time to recover. "Now," I whispered in his ear. "We must attend to this matter of punishment, mustn't we?"

"Yes, my-"

"I've taught you better than to spend yourself without permission, haven't I?" I interrupted.

"Yes-"

"I'd thought the past lessons were clear enough. Perhaps the fault is mine. Did I fail in my teaching, Michel?"

"No, my lord!" He replied desperately, hearing the dangerous undertone in my voice.

"A wise answer," I murmured. I clenched a fist in his hair and jerked his head back, making him draw in a startled, hissing breath.

"I will repeat this lesson once, and once only, boy," I said. "I care not how you find your pleasure when we spend a night as lovers, rather than patron and adept." I paused, punctuating my words with a nip at his earlobe that made him flinch. "But when you come to kneel before me, and submit to me in Naamah's service, you put yourself in _my_ control... and _I_ decide when you are finished. Do you understand me, Michel?"

He breathed an agreement, and I smirked. "We'll see," I said, and let him go. I took the three-tailed flogger from the table, and turned back to him.

Michel's marque was still unchanged. Though he had certainly earned enough money, he had not added to it in months, and we had not yet visited the marquist to alter Valerian's design. The delicate, half-finished lines scrolled over his skin like an invitation, and I did not hesitate to accept, bringing the flogger to fall across the taut skin of his buttocks.

Michel groaned aloud, shoulders tightening as he tensed his hands against his bonds. The third blow made his head fall back, dark curls cascading over his shoulders; by the sixth, he was trembling all over. I paused then, letting the flogger hang at my side.

"Who do you belong to?" I asked softly.

"You, my lord," he said, his voice thick with desire. I reached out and let the ends of the flogger dance lightly across his welts.

"Who is in control?"

He repeated his answer, and I let that dangerous edge creep into my voice once more. "Will you fail me again, boy?"

"No!" He gasped, then cried out as I struck him a final time, harder than before.

"Remember it," I growled. I tossed the flogger aside and shoved him toward the bed, watched him stumble as his legs hit the edge of the mattress. "On your knees, Michel."

He knelt on the bed, awkwardly, feeling his way with his bound hands. I guided him to where I wanted him, then pushed him back, easing him down with my arm under his shoulders. With his knees bent under him, his spine was forced to arch off the bed, so that only his shoulders and his folded lower legs touched the mattress. He lay quietly while I stretched his arms over his head and tied him to the headboard, though the sound of his ragged breathing filled the room.

When I finished, I leaned back to look at him, and was struck by the beauty of him. Against the lush colors of the bedclothes, his fair skin was like a blank canvas, waiting for me to mark him with the artistry that pleased us both. I thanked Blessed Elua each day for the precious gift he had granted me in Michel, but it was moments like these when I truly knew how blessed I was. Feeling my urgent desire ease slightly in the wake of that realization, I sat beside him and reached out to stroke his cheek. He relaxed a little at the gentle touch; I hadn't noticed the tension his body held until I saw him release it.

"I love you, Michel," I murmured, feeling a sudden urge to convey what he already knew.

His lips curved in a hint of a smile below the blindfold. "And I you," he breathed. I gazed down at him for a few heartbeats longer, before the serenity of the moment became eclipsed by desire once more. I let my hand slide down his skin, admiring the way he responded to my touch, breath quickening. His phallus was fully erect, now, straining upward from his hips that arched off the bed. Michel moaned when I closed my hand around its length, and let out a soft sound of protest when I let him go.

"Not yet, love," I said, standing up. "First, I have a promise to keep."

I turned away to undress, and then I picked up the wooden case from my table, eased it open. Inside, resting on a layer of black velvet, lay the two flechettes I'd commissioned. At my request, Damien had referred me to the very craftsman who supplied Mandrake House with blades. The ones I'd purchased were slender, almost delicate, and to call them knives would be akin to saying a diamond was only a rock. The blades were a bit longer than my hand, from fingertip to wrist, and each edge glinted with a wicked sharpness. The handles were carved of bone, polished to a gleam and wrapped in spirals of silver wire. The silver pommels of each were set with small, deep-blue sapphires- the color of Michel's eyes.

I lifted one free of the case and closed my fingers around the grip; it fit perfectly in my hand, the bone quickly absorbing the heat of my skin. Smiling, I turned back toward Michel.

"I have a surprise for you, boy," I said quietly, returning to my seat beside him. I reached out and placed the tip of the flechette's blade against the hollow of his throat. "Do you know what this is?"

His wordless reaction was answer enough; he went absolutely still, muscles tensing. Carefully, I drew the tip of the blade lightly along his collarbone, then down over the muscle of his chest, tracing an invisible line over the surface of his skin. "I had these made especially for you," I continued in a conversational tone, watching him closely. Just over his heart, I pressed the blade a little harder. The tip sank into his skin, and Michel shuddered, his breath hissing through gritted teeth.

I eased the flechette away from him, watching blood well up in a scarlet bead on his chest. I had given him no more than a pinprick, and I felt a shudder run through him as I pressed my lips over the single drop of blood. When I straightened, it left a reddish smear across his skin.

"Yes," I murmured. "These shall do nicely... Do you not agree?"

Michel swallowed nervously, and jerked a silent nod. The need to dominate him, to possess him utterly, suddenly flared into a feverish wave that swept through my body and left me feeling lightheaded.

"Gods," I muttered breathlessly. I let the tip of the flechette rest against the tender skin above his navel; I could feel him trembling against my arm.

"Are you frightened?" I asked softly.

He nodded again, biting the corner of his lip so hard I expected to see blood. A faint sheen of sweat gleamed on his skin, and I knew that it would make the flechette's marks sting even more.

Michel flinched as he felt me lean over him. "My lord-"

I kissed him gently, silencing him, and moved up to straddle his arched torso.

"You know how to stop me," I reminded him when I ended the kiss, then drew my lips down over his skin. My hair trailed over his chest, following the path of kisses that made him tremble beneath me. I could feel the hard length of his phallus brushing against my abdomen, but I ignored it, and he knew better than to attempt aught else. I closed my lips around his nipple, sucking gently before releasing it. When I pressed the blade's tip into the circle of dark skin, Michel drew in a ragged breath, nearly whimpering.

I lifted the blade away, smiling, and dropped another kiss upon his chest, following it with another prick of the flechette's needle-like point. Over and over, I baptised his skin with kisses of flesh and steel, while he writhed beneath me, moaning.

When his chest and abdomen were flecked with the reddened marks I'd left behind, I bent and drew my tongue in a long, slow line up his sternum. It made him sigh in pleasure, and the sound choked off abruptly when I replaced my tongue with the tip of the blade.

"Ah, no," he moaned in a helpless denial, knowing what I meant to do. The protest sent a thrill of arousal through me. He let out a long, ragged groan as I pressed the flechette just deep enough for blood, then drew it down along the line my tongue had traced on him.

"Gods..." He gasped out, when I stopped. A thin line of crimson was beading on his skin.

"Shall I stop?" It came out in almost a whisper.

"Yes- yes, my lord, please..."

With lips and tongue, I drew another slow line, from his navel to the hollow beneath his ribcage, following the line of his abdomen. "Say it," I breathed, placing the flechette's point against him once more.

Michel grimaced and remained silent, until the blade pulled another low cry from his throat as I dragged it over his skin. "Elua! Stop, Raniel, please!" He begged, and my resolve nearly failed me, then. I had only ever heard him utter my name in pleasure, never in pain, and I hesitated, instinctively taking the sound as a sign that he had truly had enough.

_He knows his own limits,_ I reminded myself. _Have you forgotten the House that raised him, trained him? He will give up the _signale_ when he must, and he will not thank you for stopping before he is ready._

"You forget yourself, boy," I snapped. I pulled away abruptly, climbing off the side of the bed and coming back to him from its foot. His breath came hard and fast when I knelt between his bent knees. Whatever he expected me to do, he feared it, and I smiled, knowing I'd found a weakness. I let my hands glide up the insides of his thighs, slowly, and pressed his legs apart. He was unwilling, tensing under my hands- the first reluctance I'd seen in him in a long time. When I didn't relent, he yielded, shifting his head as if searching for my face through the blindfold, though he said nothing.

I grasped the ivory phallus and nudged it deeper. Bent like a bow before me, unable to move away, Michel gasped, tossing his head to the side as far as his bound arms would allow. He was not expecting it when I closed my lips around his phallus; he let out a strangled, desperate cry, his back arching up even farther. I didn't stop until even his pleas had become little more than helpless moans; only then did I raise my head and let go the carven toy, then rise onto my knees.

"Say it, boy," I advised him, taking his phallus in my free hand. There had been a deliberate pattern to the flechette's use, and I knew, when he whimpered softly, that he had seen it, and he knew what was coming. "Scream it for me," I whispered, and placed the tip of the flechette against the base of his phallus.

"_Shadows!_" He cried, in a voice hoarse with desperation.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, tossing the blade away immediately and reaching up to untie his blindfold. Michel blinked as it came away. At his temples, his brown curls clung damply to his sweat-shined skin.

"Ah, Elua," he gasped as our eyes met. "My lord-"

"Hush," I told him, reaching for the tie that bound his hands... But his murmur of "Raniel, no," made me pause, and I looked back down at him. I had forgotten my own desire in the pursuit of his _signale _and the subsequent hurry to free him; now, awareness of my raging need came rushing back- and the hard flesh jutting against my hip reminded me that Michel was not yet finished, either.

"What do you want, Michel?" I whispered, struggling against the mindless, animal need that burned through me. His _signale _had been given, and I no longer had his implicit permission to continue- But, Elua, it was hard to hold back!

Michel's lips quirked in a tiny smile as he glanced overhead at his own bound wrists. "Leave it," he murmured, and I needed no more encouragement. Groaning aloud, I found my way back between his thighs, and together we managed to fumble his legs out from under him. They had gone nerveless and clumsy from such long immobility, and he needed my help to wrap them around my waist, pulling me closer. I lifted his hips atop my thighs, and snarled in wordless frustration when I found the ivory phallus in my way. Michel cried out when I pulled it free, and hardly had time to draw a breath before I buried myself in him with a single thrust. Another low cry escaped his throat, a raw sound that tore the last bit of coherence from my thoughts. I braced my hands on either side of his shoulders and took him hard, able to think of nothing but the urgent need that consumed me.

Michel moaned helplessly with each thrust, straining his arms against their restraints, and soon began begging for the release I'd so long denied him. It took a few moments for me to realize, through the haze of my own passion, what he wanted.

"Do it," I told him through gritted teeth, not slowing. A few moments later he stiffened beneath me, head thrown back.

"Ah, gods!" He cried, and I felt the liquid heat on my skin as he spent his seed between us. His body tightened around my phallus as his climax seized him, and I echoed his cry, helpless as the wave of pleasure swept me up in his wake.

Some time later, he stirred beneath me, and I remembered with a start that he was still bound to the headboard. "I'm sorry, love," I murmured, slipping free of him and reaching up to untie his hands.

Michel gave a soft sigh as his hands came free, and smiled up at me. "Name of Elua," he breathed. "Never have I enjoyed giving up my _signale_ so thoroughly, my lord."

I returned the smile and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "Are you well, Michel?"

He stretched languidly, and grimaced. His legs and back must have felt afire after the difficult position I'd forced him into, and blood was drying in two lines and a multitude of points on his torso. We would have to clean them in the morning, but for now they were best left to heal in the open air. "Well enough... Though I may not be able to walk on the morrow," he admitted with a rueful grin.

"Then I shall have to keep you in my bed until you recover," I said, making him laugh. He shifted closer, curling up against my chest, and I stroked his hair until his breathing eased into the slow rhythm of sleep. In the fading light from the embers in the hearth, his skin fairly glowed.

_Thank you, _I prayed again to Elua, feeling my heart well with love as I gazed down at him. I watched the shadows flicker across his skin, and followed him into sleep.


	13. A Kiss and a Message

**Author's note:** Back by popular demand (sort of), this chapter is from Michel's POV... We get to see the rougher aspect of their relationship through his eyes, this time. Sorry for the long delay since last chapter!

A door slammed without warning, and I could hear it even in the bedchamber where I was curled into a chair; I twitched in surprise and nearly dropped the book I was reading. In the sitting room, I heard one of the maids give a startled squeak, heard Raniel issue a curt command. The door opened and shut again, more quietly this time, but just as hurried: the servants exiting, I guessed, their cleaning only half-finished.

Concerned, I set my book aside and went to the sitting room. Raniel paced back and forth with powerful, angry strides, a fierce scowl on his face. I paused in the doorway, torn between worry and an unexpected surge of desire.

He looked up at me, his expression softening a bit. "Forgive me, Michel," he said, his voice tight. "I didn't realize you were here."

"The fault is mine, my lord," I said, shaking my head. I had spent all day working to translate a short volume of Bhodistani poetry, then hoped to surprise Raniel when he returned from his court duties that evening... It seemed, however, that this was not a good time. I turned back toward the bedroom. "Let me fetch my book, and I shall go."

"No, no," he said. "I was about to send for you, in fact." He managed a rueful half-smile. "Though I had thought to have more time to compose myself, first."

"What happened, my lord?" I asked softly.

My prince pressed his lips together, and was silent for a moment. "Fools at court," he said eventually, fury returning to flash in his dark eyes. It made my breath catch in my throat. "I... would prefer to forget it."

I took a few steps closer. "Perhaps it's just as well that I am here now, my lord," I said in a low voice. "Sometimes it is better to let loose your anger, rather than try to avoid it."

His gaze sharpened, those dark eyes staring into mine. I had seen him angry before, of course, had caused it myself on some occasions... But that had been anger mostly for my benefit, within the context of Naamah's service. Offering myself to him _now_, putting myself at the mercy of that true fury that burned in him, was different.

We're warned against it, in Valerian House. Contracts are not usually signed with any patron who arrives in the state of mind that Raniel was in now, for safety reasons. It is all too easy to forget the terms of an assignation when one's genuine rage is given free rein. I knew all this, and yet it wasn't enough to dissuade me. We stared at each other for a long moment, while in my mind's eye I could see him shove me roughly onto his bed, abandoning all the cautious precision that was his wont. There would be no meticulous play with flechettes, this time... He would choose something simpler, perhaps the whip that he knew I favored, and he would ply me with it until his fury was sated, until the mingled pain and pleasure of it tore screams from my throat...

Ah, Elua! It would be _good_.

My blood heated at the very thought, and I could see the answering hunger in his eyes, knew that he was envisioning nearly the same thing.

"A tempting offer, boy," he said, in a voice rougher than it had been moments before. He reached up and laid his palm against my cheek, drawing me closer as if for a kiss. "But you know as well as I that angry tempers and violent pleasures do not mix well."

I gazed up at him. Even in the small contact of his hand against my cheek, I could feel the tension in his body, aching for a release. "I trust you, my lord," I breathed.

Raniel closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "But I do not trust myself," he replied in a murmur, and opened his eyes as he stepped away. I winced inwardly, feeling the loss of his touch almost as a physical blow. "If I went too far in my anger..." he shook his head. "I will not risk it, love- I won't risk _you_, just to appease my temper."

I nodded, swallowing back a wave of thwarted desire. "I understand," I said, and raised an eyebrow. "But I hope you will not expect me to _thank _you for it, my lord."

Unexpectedly, he grinned. "Patience, boy... that will come later," he promised. "For now, I have a better idea. Come with me."

We left his chambers. I let him lead me through the palace corridors, and I nearly had to trot to keep pace with him. Driven by his still-simmering anger, he moved with long, powerful strides that brought us out of the palace to an afternoon just fading to evening.

It had rained all day, only abating an hour or so earlier, and the threat of its return still hung in grey clouds over the City of Elua. I realized where we were headed even as Raniel said, "You wanted to watch my sword-training, didn't you, Michel?"

A little thrill of excitement ran through me. I had heard myriad stories about the Dauphin's prowess with a blade, especially since moving into the palace, but I had not yet had the privilege to see him in action. "I would be delighted, my lord," I said sincerely, as he led me into the Royal Guards' training yard.  
It was a wide, open space, lined with racks of weapons under a covered colonnade to protect them from the elements, and with a few rings of various sizes marked out by low fences. In each of these, a number of combatants sparred together, a mix of soldiers, Royal Guardsmen and young peers of the realm. The sound of wooden practice blades crashing together echoed off the stone walls of the courtyard.

A cheer went up from a crowd of onlookers as Raniel approached the center ring. The off-duty soldiers and the young lords and ladies who had come to watch the training stepped aside to clear a path for him, bowing or curtsying as he passed; from inside the ring, a few men called out good-natured jests and challenges. The onlookers made a space for me at the fence, and Raniel shrugged out of his overcoat, hanging it over the rail and tying his long hair back before ducking into the ring. A few young pages hurried across the muddy ground to offer him a choice of practice swords; he took one and found a clear space in the ring. He began to flow through a sword-form, and he did it without pretense, with no call for the crowd's attention... but they gave it regardless. One by one, the other matches ceased, the other students paused their own forms, and a hush fell over the onlookers as he moved.

I smiled as I leaned against the rail, watching my prince flowing through the exercises. I had reason to know how strong and controlled his body was- but I had never had occasion to see how _graceful_ he could be. He slid from one movement to another with smooth ease, a look of complete focus on his face; the furious anger from earlier had nearly melted away. I know next to nothing of combat, but even I could see the undercurrent of danger that lined his every movement. Each strike had a deadly purpose, no matter how lovely he made it look.

I do not know if he performed only one long form, or seamlessly strung several together. I lost track of the time, simply indulging in the pleasure of watching him. When he finished, sheathing the practice sword in a swift, final motion, the gathered onlookers let out a cheer- most especially the young ladies present, which made me smile.

Across the other side of the ring, a group of Raniel's Shahrizai cousins cheered no less than the rest, though Cesáre stepped out of their cluster, hoisting his sword in the air. "Ho, cousin!" The others shouted, amidst laughter. "You have a challenger!"

"And a wager, to make it interesting!" Cesáre added.

Raniel turned to face him, and bowed. He was grinning, but I could see that unreleased anger still waiting for an escape. "In the unlikely event that you win, Cesáre? What do you wish?"

Cesáre's piercing blue eyes fell on me from across the ring, and he called out a ribald suggestion that would make an Alyssum adept blush scarlet. It drew scandalized laughter from the peers who were present, and the soldiers gathered in the next ring called out more suggestions, each a bit worse than the last. Someone else called out, "Did you forget, Cesáre? Prince Raniel does not share his adept with anyone!" I raised my eyebrows, wondering how Raniel would respond.

My prince shook his head, playing at regret. "Forgive me, cousin, but it would be too cruel for me to accept such a wager and entertain your hopes. How could I bear to see the utter disappointment on your face when I defeated you? I should not be able to live with myself."

This drew another appreciative roar from the watchers, and a little sigh of relief from me. Cesáre made a show of staggering, pressing a hand over his heart. "Ah! Already you wound me, my lord! Perhaps a less lofty ambition, then... only a kiss, mayhap?"

An approving murmur ran through the crowd, and Raniel spread his hands. "That may be more suitable," he said, turning to glance at me. "If Michel agrees...?"

I nodded, holding Cesáre blue gaze for a moment before grinning at Raniel. "I trust you will not disappoint me, my lords."

More laughter welled up from the crowd, and Cesáre tipped his sword toward me in salute before the two of them retreated to their separate corners. An excited buzz arose from the onlookers as they crowded closer to the rail. The two combatants approached the center of the ring and each gave the other a courtly bow before drawing their swords. I swallowed nervously, silently uttering a quick prayer to Elua. The practice blades were dulled for safety, of course, but I had no inkling of how Cesáre's skills compared to my prince's.

Their swords met with a clang; louder than I had expected, it made me start. They circled each other, testing their strength, boots squelching in the mud that the earlier rain had formed. They seemed evenly matched, for the moment, though after seeing Raniel perform alone, I knew he was not yet making a true effort.

It went on for some time, and I could not help from grinning with excitement as I watched. I will never be a soldier or a fighter- a few tricks to discourage overzealous patrons are the extent of my combative skills- but in the intricate dance of their blades, I could see why poets sing of the glory of battles.

The cheers of the crowd suddenly dimmed somewhat, and the watchers nearest me moved away, murmuring. I tore my gaze from the fight and turned to see Raniel's father, King Imriel, approaching the ring.

Swallowing back a nervous lump in my throat, I summoned my training and swept him a deep bow along with the rest of the crowd. "Your Highness."

When I looked up, he was smiling at me. "Michel," he greeted me warmly, then looked around at the rest of the nearby crowd. "You're missing the fight," he reminded them. A ripple of laughter turned into more cheers as attention was returned to the ring.

To my astonishment, the king came closer and leaned his forearms against the railing beside me. His retainers and the rest of the onlookers discreetly edged away, and I found I could not concentrate on Raniel's fight, not with his father a mere arm's-length away.

"He is quite good, isn't he?" King Imriel said.

"Yes, my lord," I said, shooting him a sideways glance. Raniel favored his father's looks strongly, especially the blue-black hair, though the king's was starting to silver at the temples. In King Imriel's profile, I could see the mark of the Shahrizai beauty that my prince shared. I felt a bit tongue-tied; though we had spoken several times, I had never had a private conversation with the King of Terre D'Ange.

A roar erupted from the crowd, and I jerked my eyes back to the fight. Raniel had forced Cesáre to one knee in the mud, but his cousin had fought his way back to his feet with some clever move that I missed.

"He is very fond of you," the king remarked. Startled, I glanced at him again. He was looking at me, now, and his sapphire eyes held the same measuring gaze that I had seen in his son's, at times. "Will you permit me to ask, Michel, how _you_ feel?"

There was more meaning behind his question, I could tell, but I didn't know what answer he wished to hear. I could only tell him the truth. "I love him."

To my relief, he smiled. "That is well, then." He turned back to watch the fight, adding, "You make him happy. He has changed since he met you, and even more since he purchased your marque."

"I think we have changed each other, my lord," I replied. It was true; neither of us were quite the same men we had been. I watched as, in the ring, Raniel suddenly took the upper hand, sending his cousin's sword into the mud and stepping in close to press his own blade against Cesáre's throat. The crowd erupted in cheers, the king and I included, as the combatants bowed to each other. From across the ring, Raniel met my eyes, and the look in them made my breath catch in my throat.

"And that," Imriel said, "is one of the best things about love." I only half heard him, as my prince crossed the ring and pulled me into his arms for a fierce kiss with the rails of the fence still between us. Mud-spattered and breathless and sweating, with the peers of the realm and the king watching, Raniel kissed me as passionately as he ever had, as if he were laying claim to me for all to see. _Mine_, his body said, and I could only cling to the wooden rails between us as the rest of the world faded under his touch.

The ribald jokes were already beginning among the soldiers by the time he let me go. I could hear the nobles murmuring to each other behind me, but I had eyes only for him. He held my gaze for a long moment before turning to greet the king with a bow and a murmured, "Father."

"Well done, Rani," Imriel said, smiling quietly, and I didn't realize until later that he might have been referring to something other than the duel. A look passed between father and son, one I did not understand, before the king turned to the crowd and called for another match. Another cheer went up as new combatants stepped forward; Raniel deftly swung himself over the rails and slipped a possessive arm around my waist.

"Come," he murmured, rubbing ruefully at a smear of mud that was drying on his chin. "I am in dire need of a bath."

The Palace servants are very good at what they do; word must have gone out as soon as Raniel arrived in the sword-yard, for a large copper tub was already waiting for him in the sitting room when we returned to his chambers. Steam moistened the air, and one servant was just emptying a final bucket of water into the tub. His steward, Hubert, was setting out towels and a robe for afterwards. Raniel disappeared into his bedroom, tugging his hair free of its ties as he went.

By the time he returned from his bedchamber, the worst of the mud washed from his face at the washbasin, I'd dismissed the servants. Raniel cocked an eyebrow at me as I approached him. When I reached for the buttons that closed his loose, mud-spattered shirt, he brought his hands up to brush mine away. "Michel, you needn't-"

I caught his hands first, and eased them down to his sides, interrupted him with an assertion in my voice that I rarely used. "I am trained for this, my lord," I reminded him. "And I daresay you will enjoy _my _attentions better than your steward's."

"I don't doubt it," he murmured, allowing me to continue, watching me with a bemused smile on his face. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes, though, that warned me the conversation was not over. Fighting back a shiver of desire, I focused on the task at hand, undoing the many buttons down his chest with slow patience.

It had been a long time since I'd used this aspect of my training, and I enjoyed the chance to watch my prince's body being revealed. After watching his sword fight, I had a new appreciation for the muscles of his chest and arms. I was tempted to forgo the bath altogether, but I made myself keep going

Raniel remained silent, gazing down at me when I knelt to tug his boots free. He stepped out of them, and I rose up to unlace his breeches. He was already growing aroused; I resisted the urge to take hold of his hardening phallus, and got to my feet instead. I gave him a graceful bow. "Your bath awaits, my lord."

He didn't move, and I straightened up to find him eyeing me, lips quirked in a hint of a smile. "Will you be joining me, Michel?"

I had considered it... but I had something else in mind. I gave him an innocent smile. "Why, no, my lord! That would hardly be proper."

Raniel raised a skeptical eyebrow, no doubt wondering what I was planning. Our relationship had never been concerned with propriety. But he stepped over the edge of the copper tub and sank into the hot water with a sigh.

I lit a bit of incense to sweeten the air, and in the steam and the candlelight, I attended him as I had been trained to do. He let me do it, still with that bemused, tolerant look on his face. I poured clean water over him to wet his hair, helped him lather his back and rinsed him clean when he was ready. Neither of us spoke; in the warm, scented air the only sound was an occasional soft splash. It worried me a little- Raniel only became this uncharacteristically silent when something serious weighed on his thoughts. Telling myself that he would share it with me when he was ready, I kept silent myself and focused on my tasks. When he finished and leaned back against the side of the tub to stretch his legs, I dabbed a bit of scented oil onto my palms and stepped behind him to work at the muscles of his back and shoulders.

My prince gave an appreciative groan as I worked, sweeping his sodden hair to one side, out of the way. Despite the afternoon's sword-work, or perhaps because of it, I could feel tension knotted between his shoulder blades. He relaxed under my hands, letting me concentrate fully on smoothing away the knots... and so I was completely unprepared when he reached over his shoulder, caught my wrist and hauled me forward. Unbalanced, I pitched over his shoulder and just caught myself before I plunged headfirst into the water. A startled laugh escaped me, and cut off abruptly when he pressed his lips to my neck.

"Undress, boy," he breathed against my skin. "And do it where I can see you."

I had been so engrossed in my task that I had nearly forgotten my own desire. Now, with that simple exertion of authority, he brought it flooding back. I murmured a breathless assent, and he let me go.

I moved to the side of the tub and began to remove my clothing, much the same way I had done to him: gracefully, unhurried. I didn't look at him, but I could feel his heated gaze on me as I moved.

When I was bare, I moved toward the tub, but Raniel held up a hand that halted me. "It would not be _proper_, would it, love?"

He was teasing me, but behind his smile I could see the tinge of cruelty that was his birthright, that he could wield so well against me. His anger had not completely abated; even now, it sought an outlet, and the realization sent a little thrill through me.

Raniel pointed to the chair beside the tub. "Sit."

I moved the towels aside and sat.

"Now, boy," my prince said softly. "You are going to pleasure yourself... And I am going to watch."

Ah, Elua! What could I do, but obey? I took my own phallus into my hand, stealing a glance at him as I did so. With his blue-black hair soaked rather than framing his face in its usual waves, his features looked sharper, clearer somehow. I could easily see the stamp of his Shahrizai lineage, especially with the expression he wore: desire mixed with authority and the knowledge that I would do exactly as he ordered. He caught me looking, and held my gaze with dark, burning eyes as he settled back. He stretched his arms out atop the edges of the tub and raised his eyebrows as if to ask why I was hesitating.

_Gods_, I thought, pulling my gaze away from him and tightening my grip. The knowledge that he was watching should not have made me so uncomfortable, but it did... adding to the pleasure an edge that I both craved and hated. As my oiled hand worked in my lap, I closed my eyes, imagining what Raniel would do to me when I had finished- when he _let _me finish. The bathwater must have been growing cool by then, but he did not move, did not rescue me from the trap of my own need. Even with my eyes closed, I could picture the almost arrogant look he wore as he watched me. It was humiliating and erotic, and I could not decide if I wanted this exquisite torture to end or not. I thought of Raniel releasing his anger on me as he'd refused to do earlier, and the images that formed in my mind made me groan aloud. I stroked myself faster, though I knew I should not spend myself without his permission. Another image flashed behind my eyelids: my prince pinning me down with the strength of his fury, forcing himself inside me and finding an erratic rhythm that meant his perfect control was near breaking.

"Ah, Raniel!" I gasped out. A splash startled me, and I opened my eyes to see him rising abruptly from the tub. He crossed the space between us in two steps and knelt before me, water streaming down his skin. I parted my knees to let him get closer; he jerked my hand away and drew my phallus into his mouth before I could respond.

With an involuntary cry, I jerked my hips upward, mindlessly seeking to bury myself in the wet heat of his mouth. He took advantage of the movement to hook one hand behind my knee and pull me sharply to the edge of the chair. I slumped back, gripping the arms of the chair with all my strength, hardly able to hold my own head up against the waves of pleasure. He pressed a fingertip inside me, and it was enough to send my spine arching up as the ecstasy took hold.

When I collapsed into the chair again, breathless, he withdrew, though he left his hand where it was. He had two fingers inside me, now, sliding in and out with a measured pace, and I knew we were far from finished.

I opened my eyes to see him still crouched before me, midnight hair hanging around his face in wet, untamed locks. That, and the fierce lust in his eyes, gave him a look of wildness that made me shiver.

"Well, my lovely boy," he said, his deep voice just above a whisper. "You wanted to be an outlet for my anger. Have you changed your mind?" He brushed a fingertip against Naamah's Pearl within me as he spoke; even sated as I was, the pleasure made me gasp.

"No, my lord," I answered honestly, watching his eyes. They searched my own for a moment longer, until he looked away and withdrew his hand.

"Get up," he ordered, and his voice had gone cold. He gestured toward the bedchamber. "Go and wait."

I did, leaving the room on unsteady legs and kneeling _abeyante_ beside the bed. For a few long moments, there was only silence from the other room. As I waited, I found myself praying to Naamah, praying that I could provide my prince with the release he needed.

In the year or so that I had known him, I had knelt to await his pleasure countless times... and I had never lost the thrill of delight and arousal that overtook me when he came to me. I felt it now, when he entered the bedchamber, droplets of water still glistening on his bare skin. There is a sort of release in surrendering completely to one's patron, in relinquishing control and knowing that the other will take it. As I had done so many times before, I gave myself over to him with a conscious surrender, and wondered what he would do with me.

Raniel walked past me to the bedside table; I heard him open the drawer and remove something. He approached me from behind and did not hesitate. Pain flared in a hot line from my shoulder to my opposite hip as the sound of the whip-crack filled the room. I gasped in surprise, and had no time to savor the sweet pain of it before the whip fell again.

"Elua," I groaned, as Raniel continued. There was no slow, drawn-out delay like he usually granted me; the blows came hard and fast, searing across my skin. I shuddered on my knees and clenched my fists until my knuckles turned white. Gods, it hurt, and I didn't want him to stop. It began to heat my blood again, and I bit my lip, resolutely ignoring my hardening phallus.

Too soon, he stopped, leaving my blood pounding in my ears in the brief silence. He sank a hand into my hair and turned me roughly; I nearly fell as I twisted to face him. I began the _languisement_ without being told, cupping his testes in one hand and encircling the base of his phallus with the other. His skin felt hot, as if he were afire from within, and his breath hissed through his teeth when I closed my lips around him. His hold on my hair tightened, and with his other hand he gripped my shoulder, pressing the handle of the whip against my collarbone. The tail of the whip fell back over my shoulder, making me flinch at the sharp increase in pain wherever it trailed across my welted skin.

Raniel jerked me closer, forcing himself deeper than I was ready for. Surprised, I made a muffled sound in my throat, and he loosened his hold a bit. That wasn't what I wanted- he was still controlling himself, still afraid of pushing me too far in his fury. I soon had him groaning softly above me, his pulse throbbing in the hard flesh between my lips... But I could still feel the tension he was holding back, could sense it in his movements, in his grip on me.

I released him, and drew back to look up at his face. Of all the times that I had submitted to him and served him as I had been trained, I had never done such a thing. When I gave him control, I ceded the right to decide how it ended, save for the _signale_. He looked down at me, expecting me to utter it now, and I could see his puzzlement.

I drew a deep breath. "I have already offered you myself as a release, my lord. Why do you still hold back?"

Silence stretched between us as he continued to stare down at me. I saw it in his face when he made his decision.

With a snarl, he tugged at my hair, bringing me to my feet. He shoved me toward the bed and forced me facedown onto the mattress, straddling my hips. I had gotten what I wanted, and now, as he seized my wrists and wrested them behind my back, a little jolt of delicious fear went through me. He bound my wrists together, tightly, his movements sharp and angry. I realized belatedly that he was using the end of the whip to do it. I struggled a little, unable to help myself.

"Stop it," Raniel growled, and pressed me flat against the bed with a hand between my shoulder blades. The pressure on the lash-marks made me cry out.

Abruptly, he was gone; I could hear him getting something else from the bedside table. When he knelt behind me again, he grasped my hips and pulled me up on my knees. With my hands bound behind me, I had to lean on my shoulders and my head, against the mattress. "My lord, please," I begged, and I am not sure what I was asking for.

"Quiet," he ordered, and leaned forward, bracing on one hand over me. I could just see him in the corner of my vision, but the leather gag he held before me was clear enough. "You're going to get your wish, boy... Will you give your _signale_ now, after all your insistence?"

There was something cruel and mocking in the words. Not trusting my own voice, I shook my head as much as I was able, at that uncomfortable angle. Raniel pressed the leather between my teeth and tied it in place, then straightened up behind me. I felt the head of his phallus push against my nether entrance, and I moaned around the gag. It was going to hurt, and in that moment, there was nothing I wanted more. He entered me with a sharp thrust, and a choked cry escaped around my gag.

It was fortunate that my _signale_ was the farthest thing from my thoughts, because if I'd had need, I don't know how I would have given it. Bound and gagged, my body bent to his pleasure, I was helpless beneath him. He took me hard, hands holding me steady while he buried himself inside me. Each thrust drove the pain and the pleasure of it deeper, until I was shaking beneath him, grinding my teeth against the leather gag with the effort of not crying out. _Elua, _I thought desperately, just before the pleasure overtook me in a wave of light that flashed behind my eyelids.

"Michel-" he grated through clenched teeth, and his steady rhythm grew more erratic as my body tightened around him. With a groan, he jerked me back against him and held me immobile as he spilled his seed into me.

When it was over, he eased back, slipping free and letting me go. I dropped onto my side, nearly gasping with relief as the pressure on my neck was eased. Raniel sat on the edge of the bed, leaning on one hand and staring at the floor while he caught his breath. There was something dark in his expression; something that replaced the fury that had burned there earlier. Only when he glanced toward me did I see it for what it was: regret.

"Elua," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry, Michel." He reached over and untied the gag, leaned over me to loose my wrists.

"For what, my lord?" I shifted, wincing as I lay on my back, and rubbed at my wrists. A dull, familiar ache was beginning to spread through my lower body, and with it came the sated languor that he always left me with. "You did nothing that I did not insist upon."

"That does not make it right," he murmured, still leaning over me. He reached out a hand and stroked my hair back from my face. "You are more to me than simply a physical target for my anger. I should not have treated you so."

Surprised, I pushed myself up to sit beside him. "My lord, this night was no less pleasant than any other we have spent together. Anger needs release as much as any other emotion. If _I_ regretted it, then you would have cause to do the same... But I do not."

Raniel's dark, Cruithne eyes searched mine, perhaps looking for evidence that I was lying to assuage his own feelings. When he didn't find it, he put his arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer and pressing his lips to my hair. "I do not deserve you," he breathed. His hand tightened on my shoulder as he added, "But I will not let them take you from me."

A shiver of true fear went through me at the words, settling uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach. I pulled back to look at him. "What happened, Raniel?"

He took a deep breath. "There was a... _discussion_ in Court today," he said reluctantly. "About your suitability as my lover."

I blinked. "We follow Blessed Elua," I reminded him. "Is that not suitable enough for them?" But even as I spoke, I knew the answer, and the fear made my stomach turn.

"If I were anyone else, it would be," my prince murmured. "If I were anyone else, it would matter not. But I have a duty to Terre D'Ange, love. And someday, I must provide an heir."

I looked away, willing my heart to slow its frantic, panicked beat. I had known this all the time, of course, in some corner of my mind... But I had chosen to ignore it, to put it aside and simply enjoy our relationship.

Now, I had no choice but to face it.

"I am sorry, love," Raniel said, stroking my hair again. "Nothing came of it today save some heated words. But they are right, and I think that is why I was so angry. That they would dare to say it, to even _suggest_ I give you up..."

I knew what he meant. That fear had now risen from the pit of my stomach and clamped icy fingers around my heart until it was nearly a physical pain. I could see how easily a man like Raniel would take that fear and turn it to a burning, uncontainable fury. I did something different; I am a scholar, and I forced myself to look at the dilemma rationally.

"We have time," I realized. "They may make noise about it now, but they cannot seriously insist upon anything until you have taken the throne."

"Yes," he murmured. "Elua willing, that will be a long time hence." He touched my chin gently, turned me to look at him. "I love you, Michel. I swear to you, in the names of Elua and all his Companions, that that will never change."

I nodded, afraid to speak lest my emotions get the better of me. Raniel pulled me into his arms, careful of my lash-marked back, and leaned back against the pillows, letting me rest my head on his shoulder. I traced my fingertips idly over the muscles of his abdomen, and suddenly remembered the king seeking me out during Raniel's swordfight.

"Whose side did your father take in this... _discussion_, my lord?"

Raniel hugged me tighter, reassuringly. "He and my mother remember all too well the consequences of denying Blessed Elua's precept; it's the others, the younger officials, who are the problem. In the whole room, I think I was the only one less concerned about the issue than my parents."

That made me feel a little better, and brought the rest of the afternoon into better understanding. Raniel's duel had become more than just a training exercise. When he fought for my kiss and won, when he claimed what was his for all the audience to see, it had been a message for the nobles in the Court: my prince would fight to keep me. I felt the cold tendrils of fear receding. _Love as thou wilt_; we did, and it would be enough for _us_, no matter what came.

Raniel caught my wrist in his hand, tracing his thumb over the lines that the whip had left when he bound me. "Seems a bit foolish," he said ruefully, "to have treated you so roughly because I was angry at the possibility of losing you."

I chuckled. "I am not complaining, my lord."

"You never do," he agreed. "And I truly believe that I do not deserve you." He twined his fingers with mine, and his other arm tightened possessively around me. "But Elua has blessed me with you, and I will not let you go unless you wish it."

I smiled, feeling my eyelids grow heavy with fatigue. "Then you shall have me forever," I said drowsily.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, I think... but if he spoke again, I had already fallen asleep.


	14. Promises

**Author's Note: **This is an almost unbelievably fluffy chapter, with a bit less smut than usual... but it sets things up for the next few chapters, as you'll see... Enjoy!

The estate of Vibonne was nearly a day's ride from the City of Elua, and we had departed the Palace rather later than I had hoped. We arrived at Vibonne just after sunset, as the sky was darkening into night. I drew in a deep breath of the apple-scented air and felt a bit of tension ease away. Relieved to have left the City and my duties behind me, even temporarily, I handed over the reins of my horse and grasped Michel's hand.

"We've arrived too late for a tour of the grounds, unfortunately," I told him, as the stableboys led the horses away. "But I can show you the villa, at any rate, if you would like. Dinner should be ready by the time we have finished."

"I would be delighted," Michel said with a smile. I waved off the guards who had accompanied us from the City, and they eased back to give us some privacy, having already sent some men ahead to check the villa for dangers. The estate of Vibonne was mine, home to one of Namarre's finest orchards and given to me by my parents, but the Dauphin's Guards would take no chances. I took Michel on a tour of the villa, gratified to see his face light up when I showed him the library.

"It is nothing compared to the Palace library," I said, watching as he walked around the small room, trailing his fingertips across the shelves of books. "Horticulture books, mostly. But you might find something to interest you."

"I always do," he replied, making me chuckle. Since joining me at the Royal Palace, he had been a regular visitor in the library there, and he was rarely without a book in his hands.

He nodded toward the large window between the bookshelves, where some cushions had been strewn on the floor in the Akkadian fashion- a fancy of mine that I'd indulged on my last visit. "I like this rather better than the Palace library," he said with a grin. "I can imagine staying an entire day in here- whether that time is spent reading, or...not."

"We will," I promised him, imagining the two of us entangled together on the cushions, forgotten books strewn about us, while golden afternoon sunlight spilled onto our lovemaking. "Come, Michel, dinner should be nearly ready."

After we had dined and retired to the bedchamber, Michel ventured out to the terrace overlooking the estate. Down a slope from the villa, the orchard's rows of apple trees cast a thicket of shadows under the moonlight. Just to the west, the small lake bordering the estate gleamed with the reflection of the night sky. We stood at the terrace railing and gazed over the peaceful vista in silence for a few moments, until Michel asked quietly, "You've been very mysterious all week, my lord. Is there something to this excursion that you haven't told me?"

I smiled sidelong at him. "Of course."

When I said nothing else, he laughed softly. "Keep your secrets, then."

I slid an arm around his waist, and he pressed against my side, leaning his head on my shoulder. The autumn night was chill, and he was pleasantly warm against my side. "I wanted to have you away from the City for a time," I admitted. "There is something I wish to ask you."

He tilted his head, glancing up at me. "What is it?"

I hesitated, hoping he couldn't feel my heart suddenly beginning to pound. There were _two_ things I wanted to ask him, in truth... But I was not yet ready to ask the more important one, and I was not certain whether he would be affronted by the lesser. "I have been thinking... We have not yet made _full _use of the Night Court since you moved into the Palace. If it would please you, I would like to arrange an assignation... With Damien."

I felt a little shiver course through his body at the Mandrake adept's name, and I added quickly, "I will not do it if you do not wish it, love. I offer it _for_ you, and I will not be upset if you decide against it. I simply wish to know your thoughts on it."

Michel shifted, pulling away a bit so that he could face me. His expression, in the soft light from the bedchamber behind us, was shadowed and serious. "You know that I am yours, my lord, and yours alone. You are everything I need, and more besides." His lips curved into a smile. "But if you are not averse to sharing me, then neither am I."

I raised an eyebrow. "Truly?"

"Things have changed, my lord. All the Night Court knows that I belong to you. You hold my marque, you love me, and now I know it." His smile widened then. "I am yours, and now _you_ know it. If desire leads us to invite another into our bed, no longer must I hold myself apart to prove it to you."

It was well said, and I nodded thoughtfully. He leaned one elbow against the rail of the terrace, eyes searching my face. "What of you, Raniel? Is this something _you_ want? I will not accept if you only offer it for my sake."

I opened my mouth to say reassuringly that of course I did, and paused. I had thought about this for some weeks even before planning our brief escape from the City, but he would not be reassured if I gave him a glib response. So I thought about it once more, imagined seeing Michel kneeling at the Mandrake adept's feet. Elua, the desire was there, enough to make my heart begin to pound even harder... but the jealousy that once might have accompanied it was absent, and I believed I knew why. That night of my fête, when Damien had joined us and I had regretted it afterward, Michel had still belonged to Valerian House. I had had no inkling of the depths of feeling that our relationship would reach. Things _were_ different now, and I was willing to share him, safe in the knowledge that he _was_ mine, that he loved me and would still, when all was said and done.

"I think," I said slowly, "that I would very much like to see what he does with you, boy. And who knows," I added, "perhaps I shall learn something."

Michel laughed, eyes sparkling. "Ah. I don't know whether to be worried or excited about that."

"A bit of both," I suggested, slipping behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist. He leaned back against my chest, fingers threading through mine as we watched the sky darken. "Shall we pay a visit to Mandrake House when we return to the City, then?"

"Yes, my lord," he breathed.

"Very well," I chuckled, relaxing a bit, relieved that he had not been upset by the offer. I hadn't quite been certain how he would take it. Now, we had some days more to spend at Vibonne, plenty of time for me to gather the nerve for the other question. _Later_, I thought, focusing instead on the desire that I had been holding in check all evening. I pulled Michel back against me, pressing my hardening phallus against the curve of his buttocks.

"Still thinking of Damien?" He asked, teasing.

"Elua, no," I laughed, dipping my head to kiss his neck. "Only you, love." He let out a soft sigh at the touch. "I am constantly amazed by you," I continued in a murmur, nipping gently at his earlobe. "No one else can so thoroughly sate the Kusheline blood that burns in my veins, and yet leave me craving more."

"Hmm," he murmured, pressing back against me and drawing a groan from my throat. "Is that your desire tonight, my lord?"

"Oh, no," I whispered in his ear. "Tonight, I am going to pleasure you over and over, until you are wrung out and exhausted and unable to walk, love."

Michel let out a breathless laugh. I slipped my hands under the edge of his shirt, finding the smooth skin of his abdomen, warm against the cool night air. "Do you think I jest?" I whispered.

"No..."

I turned him around to kiss him fiercely, pushing him back against the balustrade. His phallus pressed urgently against me; he moaned into my mouth as I freed it from the confines of his breeches.

"Ah, gods," he breathed, when I went to my knees and closed my lips around him. He braced himself against the balustrade and leaned back, closing his eyes. I smiled inwardly and began the _languisement_, slowly. I took my time, bringing him to the brink of ecstasy and pulling him back, over and over, reveling in his gasps of pleasure. When I stole a glance up at him, he was gripping the railing with both hands, head tilted back and eyes closed. "Elua, Rani, please don't stop," he groaned.

I grinned and bent my head to him again, granting his request. I went on for a long time; the moon-shadows had shifted around us by the time I relented and brought him to release. He spent himself with a gasp and slumped back against the balustrade, trying to catch his breath.

I remained where I was, gazing up at him. He caught my eye and managed a smile. "You win, my lord," he said breathlessly. "I don't believe I can move."

"Surrendering so soon?" I teased him, rising to my feet. I tugged his clothing back into place, though I didn't bother to lace up his breeches. "I'm not finished with you yet, boy. I'd expected more from the Dauphin's own Night Court adept."

He looked up at me from under his lashes; the light spilling out from the bedchamber caught his eyes, making them flash a brilliant deep blue. "That sounds like a challenge, my lord," he murmured, reaching out a hand to stroke me through my trousers. The touch sent a jolt of pleasure through me, and I moved a bit closer, forcing him to look up at me.

"You think I am not up to such a challenge, boy?" I asked, stroking his cheek with my thumb.

Michel shivered, closing his eyes briefly. "If I lie and say that I think you aren't, will you promise to prove me wrong?"

_Elua_, I thought, as another wave of desire swept over me. I kissed him once more, and in that moment, with the City and my Royal obligations and all our worries leagues away, nothing mattered but that kiss.

"I promise," I whispered.

* * *

We spent five days more at Vibonne, and it was a paradise. I had left behind all my duties as a Prince of Terre D'Ange; at Vibonne, we were not the Dauphin and his adept, but only Raniel and Michel. Thankfully, the estate's servants discreetly granted us our privacy. I had not visited Vibonne often since reaching my majority, but the staff knew well enough that I was happier with a minimum of their service. The captain of the Dauphin's Guards reported to me twice a day, but I almost never saw the guardsmen; they patrolled the estate's borders and left us undisturbed. Michel and I spent our days wandering the grounds, helping harvest the apples (to the orchard-workers' scandalized delight), or rowing the small boat out on the lake.

On the day it rained, we closeted ourselves in the little library for hours and pored over the shelves of books, finding a quite a few pleasant surprises. Michel acted out scenes from a volume of satirical plays, making me laugh until my stomach ached; I read to him from a copy of de Mornay's _The Ysandrine Cycle, _and he listened with sparkling eyes as I supplemented it with details that few outside my family had ever heard. We found the old copy of _Trois Milles Joies_ that I had hidden there years ago- Michel laughed when I told him I had stolen it from the Royal library when I was thirteen, because my father had expressly told me not to read it until I was older. We ensconced ourselves on the Akkadian cushions by the window and took turns reading from the book, acting out the passages on each other like eager, love-hungry boys while the rain tapped softly against the glass beside us.

The autumn days were filled with sweet, simple pleasures, and through them all I became more and more aware of how blessed I was to have Michel. There in the peaceful countryside, I could forget everything that awaited us back in the City of Elua, could forget that not everyone was as happy about my lover as I was. I could forget it all, and for those five days, I did. The only thing I knew was that the resolve with which I had left the City had only deepened as the days passed. I already knew I loved Michel; our time at Vibonne only strengthened it, and made me more determined than ever not to let it slip away.

The last day before we were to return to the City of Elua dawned clear and bright; according to the old master gardener in the orchards, it was likely to be the last day of pleasant weather before winter began to tighten its grip on Terre D'Ange. After enjoying a leisurely breakfast and spending some time repacking our belongings, Michel and I left the villa for a last stroll through the orchard. We walked in silence along the rows of apple trees, absorbing the late morning sunlight and breathing the crisp scent of ripe fruit. I imagined I could almost see the shadows lengthening as the hour wore on, drawing closer to the time we'd have to depart and return to our lives at the Palace... but there was something more I had to do, first.

There was a place where the ground began to slope upward; one tree had been planted at the top of the small rise, and there I paused, tugging Michel down to the grass beside me. From there, we could see the little lake some distance away, glittering in the sunlight. I leaned back against the tree trunk, wishing we could stay there indefinitely.

Michel sank to the ground at my side, but he was eyeing me suspiciously. "What is bothering you, Raniel?" he asked gently.

I smiled, unsurprised- he always knew when my thoughts were elsewhere. I drew in a slow breath, gathering my thoughts and offering a quick, silent prayer to Elua that I would not make a fool of myself.

"Michel... there is something else I want to ask you before we leave."

"Oh?" He smiled his sweet smile, encouraging.

I reached up to cup his cheek, watching him carefully as I said, "I love you. I... I cannot imagine being without you, Michel. I don't _want_ to imagine it. After we return to the City, if I were to declare you my consort, would you accept?"

His blue eyes grew very wide. "You... you would truly do this?"

"If you will have me, love."

"Elua!" He let out a breathless laugh. "As if there were any question! Rani-"

I held up a hand to forestall him, and he fell silent. "It will not be easy," I murmured. "There are people at Court- and, I daresay, a good number of the populace- who will not be happy, though in time, I believe we can persuade them otherwise. Michel, I would gladly give up my position as Mother's heir to be with you... and if there is no other way, I will do it. But I cannot take the easy way out, turn my back on my duty to the realm, without even trying to make it work."

He nodded. "Given your royal parents' history, I don't believe they would wish you to make that choice, either."

I had considered that, as well, and I wasn't surprised that Michel had thought of it. When the entire nation had been dead set against my parents' love, they had not given up. My mother had been determined to keep both her crown and her lover; if Sidonie and Imriel de la Courcel had found a way, then surely their son could do the same.

I forced myself to meet his eyes and give voice to the most difficult potential problem. "In the interests of diplomacy, it may be impossible for me to avoid a marriage. But if you are recognized as my consort, any potential bride will know without question that she cannot come between us. And I swear to you, Michel, I will abdicate the throne before I will wed a woman who does not accept you at my side."

He gazed at me with somber blue eyes, and I let my hand drop. "Now," I said, smiling a little, "if you will _still_ have me, after all of that..."

Michel didn't hesitate. "As if there were any question," he said again, making my heart leap. He leaned forward to brush a hand against my cheek, mirroring me. "Raniel, there is _nothing_ you could say to frighten me into refusing."

Ah, Elua! The relief and joy that washed over me was so great that I nearly gasped aloud. "No?" I asked softly.

He shook his head firmly. "I promise," he breathed, and kissed me. I pulled him into my arms as desire suddenly flared to life within me. Michel moaned softly, fingers pulling at the buttons on my shirt and then twisting helplessly in the cloth as I pulled him hard against me.

We shifted, suddenly desperate to touch each other, and I bore him down onto the grass beneath the apple tree, pulling impatiently at his clothing. So many times he had given himself to me, so many times I had made him mine... and yet with this new promise, I felt again that yearning to claim him for my own. In the dappled shade of the tree on that bright autumn morning, I took Michel with a slow sort of urgency. He tangled his hands in my hair and urged me on with ragged pleas, gasping my name with every thrust. The climax took us both at once; he cried aloud, shuddering beneath me, wide blue eyes locked onto mine. And in that instant, as had happened months ago, I felt again the brush of Blessed Elua's presence; I could see it behind the promise in Michel's eyes, could feel it like the warmth of sunlight, shining from within.

Michel felt it, as well. "Ah, gods!" He exclaimed breathlessly, sounding as awestruck as I felt. "Raniel..."

I nodded, and we gazed at each other wordlessly, catching our breath and contemplating the blessing we had just received. _Thank you_, I thought as the brief presence faded. I brushed a strand of hair back from Michel's cheek. There could be no doubt, now, that declaring him my consort would be the right decision. I prayed that the memory of this moment would stay with us as we faced the inevitable struggles ahead.

In no hurry to get up, I sank onto the grass beside him, wrapping my arms around him. In a few moments the autumn chill would prompt us to dress; various responsibilities would prompt us to return to the villa, and then back to the City... but not yet. I kissed Michel's cheek, grateful for these last few stolen moments alone, and resolved to savor them as long as I could.


	15. Challenges

**Author's note:** I may have gone a little overboard on this chapter... nearly 11,000 words, and that's _after _I took some things out, believe it or not. And I actually had to do some *ahem* _research _for this one, heheh. Thank you to my reviewers, especially Spiced Wine, whom I can't thank directly but who left a very kind review and recommended the story to another reader. (In answer to your question, I have around 3 or 4 more chapters planned for this story... maybe more.) Warnings: This chapter is M/M/M. Enjoy! ;-)

"Are you certain you wish me to make this offer, love?"

In his seat across the carriage from me, Michel gave me a wry look. "No less certain than the first three times you asked, my lord."

"Surely it hasn't been that many," I said, frowning.

Outside, thunder rumbled dimly, an afternoon rainshower just beginning. Michel eyed me calmly. "I have not changed my mind, my lord. Have you?"

I smiled slightly as the carriage drew to a halt outside Mandrake House. "No, love. I will stop asking." I fixed him with a serious gaze. "But if you _do_ change your mind, tell me."

"I will," he murmured. The footman came to open the door, and Michel and I pulled up the hoods of our cloaks against the rain before stepping out.

We were met inside the House by a young adept with jet black hair bound in a whip-like braid down her back. She dropped into a low curtsy when she recognized me. "Be welcome in Mandrake House, my lord Dauphin," she greeted me, casting a cool glance at Michel.

I nodded, shrugging out of my cloak and handing it to an attendant hovering nearby. "We wish to speak with the adept Damien, if he is here."

She smiled, a curve of red lips that had a touch of arrogance in it, and led us to a salon before leaving to find him. A few acolytes, kneeling with trays of wineglasses at the edge of the room, rose to serve us when she had left.

It was a small room, though graciously appointed, and I guessed that it was used for meetings such as this one, to negotiate contracts. I took a glass of wine and settled onto one of the couches. Michel did the same, taking the space next to me. He seemed less nervous than he had on our last visit to Mandrake; perhaps because this was only a business call, of sorts.

The acolytes faded back into the shadows. I slipped an arm around Michel's shoulders, and we waited in companionable silence. We waited for a long time.

"Perhaps we should have arranged ahead," Michel observed at length. "He may be with a patron."

"At midday?" I chuckled. "You know more about an adept's day than I, but I think it more likely that he simply enjoys making us wait." It was a game, I knew. I had made the first play by arriving unannounced; he was countering by biding his time. Neither he nor I were willing to give the other any advantage.

Like most adepts, Damien possessed the ability to know his patrons well, even potential ones. Just as I was beginning to truly feel impatient, he did arrive, stepping into the room with an expression of wary courtesy. Michel stood to greet him. I remained seated, acknowledging his bow with an indolent nod, because I knew that a show of arrogance would earn me Damien's respect more easily than good manners.

He made a curt gesture to the waiting acolytes, and they rose with alacrity to leave the room, padding silently on bare feet. When they closed the door behind them, Damien turned his piercing green gaze back to me. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit, my prince?"

I pulled Michel back down to sit beside me. There was another couch opposite, but Damien did not sit- perhaps because I had not invited him to, or perhaps because he preferred forcing us to look up at him. "I am minded to give Michel a gift, in the form of a contract with you."

Damien raised an eyebrow. "As I recall, our last assignation did not end well. You will understand that it makes me reluctant to offer my services again."

I hadn't realized how badly we had wounded his pride, before. I thought back on that night, again. When last I had invited Damien to join us, Michel had not been given a choice in the matter. I had put a stop to it, ultimately, because Michel had wanted to stop. This time, we'd had time to discuss it, first... we knew each other's thoughts on the matter. "Things have changed," I murmured, wondering how best to put it into words. "Michel and I... we have a better understanding of each other than we did."

"Mmm." He regarded us silently for a moment, then turned to Michel. "What say _you_, little one? Do you truly wish this, or do you only wish to please the Dauphin?"

Michel gazed back at him calmly, though I could feel a little shiver course through his body under the Mandrake adept's scrutiny. "I wish it," he said simply. Damien seemed to consider for another long moment.

"The both of you?" He asked carefully. "You called it a _gift. _Will I be serving one patron, or two, my prince?"

It is a Shahrizai trait, to read the fault-lines driving one's desires and motives. I do not use it often, but I used it then, and I could see them in Damien. I could see why he was being so cautious: we had offered him a chance at something that he wanted, badly- and he was afraid of losing that chance. Michel, trained to submit in Naamah's service just as thoroughly as Damien was trained to dominate, had tempted him since they'd met. And though Michel feared the Mandrake adept, I knew my lover well enough to see his desire there, as well.

_I_ was a different matter. A challenge, Damien had said, long months ago, and I knew what he meant. While it was true that Michel was the only one I wanted, I could not deny the allure of a partner who would not be an easy conquest. I had no intention of submitting to Damien... nor did I wish to refuse the possibility of his submission to _me_.

"I will not be a patron," I said. "Let us say, rather, that each shall take his pleasure where he finds it."

He understood, and nodded once, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. "As you wish. I will send for parchment to write the contract. When would it please you to meet, and where?"

I didn't glance at Michel; this was another thing we had discussed previously, reckoning that neither the Palace nor Mandrake House was _neutral_ enough for Damien and I. It had made me laugh, planning an assignation as if it were a battle, but it made a good deal of sense. "Valerian House," I said. "Three nights hence, unless you have other plans...?"

Damien's smile widened into a wicked grin. "Trust me, my prince... For this, I would cancel a dozen patrons."

Parchment and ink were brought, and the terms of our liaison written out in Damien's flowing hand, _signales_ and all. His lips quirked when I bade him write _challenge_ for my own; his and Michel's were unchanged as well. When it was done, he blotted the ink with care, rolled it and handed it to me with a sweeping bow before escorting us back to our carriage. Night had fallen while we'd been inside; we exchanged a few more polite pleasantries before leaving, but the air between us held an edge, now. "Sleep well, little one," Damien called to Michel with a tinge of dark humor in his voice, as the carriage pulled away.

Seated beside me, Michel let out a soft, breathless laugh. "Gods," he muttered.

It made me smile in the darkness. "Worried, love?"

"A little," he admitted. "You alone can be far too intense for me, when you wish it. You and he _together_... Elua! It's like to drive me mad."

I chuckled and pulled him closer against me as the carriage rumbled its way back to the Palace. "Good," I murmured, and he shivered.

That night and the next passed; I confess that my mind wandered often to thoughts of the upcoming assignation. It was a struggle to remain focused on my duties, but I managed, knowing that those in the Court who disapproved of my lover would find even more fault if they saw me so distracted. I had not yet announced my intention to make Michel my consort; there were some things we wanted to do first, including our assignation with Damien, and so it remained a secret... All the more special because no one but us knew of it. I managed to keep the assignation a secret, as well- there was no sense in giving our opponents more cause for complaint.

On the appointed night, we found ourselves again awaiting Damien's arrival, this time in the Shahrizai chambers at Valerian House.

"Do you think he'll make us wait again?" I mused, toying idly with Michel's loose curls as he knelt beside me. "I can't imagine tardiness being a trait any House wants to cultivate."

"I think _he _will not want to wait," Michel said wisely. "And we are a bit early." He sounded breathless, almost.

"Are you nervous?" I asked. He shot me a swift glance, amused and abashed all at once.

"A little," he admitted.

I let my fingers trail down the side of his head, turned him so he could not look away. "Shall we send him our regrets?" It was far from the first time I had asked him, _again_, if this assignation was to his liking… But I could not help myself. I was still discovering the many layers to my depths of feeling about Michel, but I knew well enough that there was a very protective one overlapping them all.

"Give my _signale_ before he even arrives?" Michel asked, smiling. "I am not _that_ nervous, my lord."

"Very well." I let him go, and we waited a bit longer in comfortable silence. As it happened, Michel was right; only a few minutes passed before Damien was ushered into the chamber by a Valerian adept. He paused inside the door, eyeing the both of us with an unreadable gaze while the other adept set out a tray of spiced wine before slipping out of the room.

I stared back, waiting for him to speak. He wore dark breeches and gleaming leather boots, with a shirt of scarlet that made his green eyes glitter like emeralds. His dark golden hair fell loosely past his shoulders, its shadow half-hiding his face.

"Things have changed, indeed," he murmured at length. "I can see Elua's hand on the both of you, as clearly as the marque on my back."

It should not have surprised me that a Servant of Naamah would notice such a thing, but it did. I raised my brows. "Does it change your mind?"

Damien barked a short laugh. "Elua, no!" He swept a low, graceful bow in our direction. "My lord Dauphin, Michel nó Valerian, I am at your service. Shall we begin?"

"As you will," I said, wondering what he would do.

He straightened, and leaned back against the door, arms folded across his chest. He was still smiling, but it had shifted to better match the predatory stare he fixed on Michel. "Come here, little one."

Michel hesitated, glancing up at me. There was no reluctance in the look, only uncertainty of what _I_ wanted.

"Go on." I gave him a little push; he rose and approached the other man. Damien moved like lightning, a flash of scarlet silk, and Michel stumbled as Damien struck him across the face. Catching his balance, Michel made as if to kneel reflexively, but the other adept caught his chin in one hand, forcing him to remain standing.

"I gave you an order, little one," Damien said softly. "You requested my presence here for a reason, and I have not accepted this assignation only to have my authority questioned at every command. I promise you, the next time you look to the prince rather than obey, you _will not_ like my response. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Michel whispered.

Damien did not relent; I could see his fingers tighten on Michel's jaw. His cruel smile deepened. "Do you?"

"Yes, my lord," Michel amended.

Damien stepped closer, forcing Michel's head higher, and bent his own head to kiss him, hard. Elua! I had never had occasion to _see_ Michel kiss anyone, and the sight sent a jolt of desire burning through me. He swayed in Damien's grip and half-raised his arms before dropping them, not daring to press himself against the other man. Perhaps it was because I was unaccustomed to seeing him with another, or perhaps it was the opportunity to see the submission in him from a new perspective; whatever the reason, I could not tear my gaze away.

"I have waited a long time for this," Damien mused when he let Michel go. He glanced up at me, addressing us both. "I hope you are well rested, because I intend to make this night last."

"My lord-"

Damien jerked on a handful of Michel's loose brown curls, forcing his head back. "You will speak when bidden to, and not before, little one," he said warningly, and Michel fell silent, swallowing hard. His cheek was already reddening where the backs of Damien's knuckles had struck him.

Silence reigned for a long, long moment. Damien was testing me, I knew, waiting to see if I would change my mind after all. I stared back at him wordlessly, my blood pounding hotly in my veins. Some months ago, I _would_ have told him to stop, would have been unable to control my jealousy at watching _my_ adept with another.

Now, after how far Michel and I had come, I knew better. It was as he had said: I _knew_ he was mine, and I knew that nothing Damien did would change that. I only wanted more- I wanted to see what Damien would do to him, I wanted to see him writhing with pleasure under the adept's cruel hand.

And, I realized, I wanted the challenge of Damien himself.

I raised an eyebrow, settling back on the couch. Whatever Damien saw in my face, it made him smile. "Strip," he ordered Michel, and let him go.

Michel obeyed wordlessly, and Damien left him where he was, approached me instead. "Well, my prince," he said, taking the seat beside me. "You will not be mastered so easily, I think." He put his arm around my shoulders and brushed the fingertips of his other hand along my jawline. It was a gentler touch than he had just used on Michel, but there was just as much possessiveness in it, and I only tolerated it for a moment before seizing his wrist. He smiled.

"A challenge, indeed," he murmured, and leaned closer to kiss me. It had been a long time since I had kissed anyone but Michel, and though I had kissed Damien before, it was different this time. I could sense the hunger in him, the power that he was accustomed to wielding like a weapon. The kiss deepened, becoming a battle of sorts; when I didn't release his wrist, he sank his other hand into my hair and kissed me harder.

When we broke apart, breathless, his eyes had grown dark with desire and amusement. "Later, perhaps," I told him, letting him go. "We have something else to attend to, first."

The corner of Damien's lip twitched, and we turned to look at Michel. Skin bared to the firelight, he knelt _abeyante_ where Damien had left him, staring at us with wide eyes, his face flushed. I imagined I had looked much the same after watching _him_ kiss Damien.

The Mandrake adept crooked a finger. "Come."

Michel hesitated, moving as if to rise to his feet, then thought better of it. Eyes downcast, recalling the last time Damien had ordered it, he crawled across the thick rug on hands and knees, stopping a pace before us and sitting back on his heels. His face was flushed, with humiliation more than desire. He hadn't wanted to do it; yet he had known Damien would demand it, and so he had done it regardless.

Damien chuckled, a low sound that made Michel shiver. "I'm impressed," he said to me, as if the other adept was not there. "I did not expect him to remember." He eyed Michel for a long moment. "You were afraid of me before, little one. Do you fear me still?"

"Yes, my lord."

"A wise answer," he replied softly. Abruptly, he prodded Michel roughly with the toe of his boot. "Get up, little one. Let me see what I'm getting."

Michel rose to his feet, carefully keeping his eyes on the floor. His phallus was already growing erect under our scrutiny, and the sight made me smile.

"Hmm," Damien murmured, giving no indication whether he was pleased or not. "Turn around."

He did, and Damien made a sound of disapproval, leaning forward to press a hand against the base of his marque. The touch made Michel jump. "Still unfinished?" Damien shot me an intrigued glance. "You surprise me, my prince. I imagined you still paid him; I would not have thought you the type to keep a slave."

"The choice was mine, my lord," Michel said before I could reply. "I simply haven't-"

Damien struck him, hard enough to leave a reddened handprint on his buttock, and he fell silent. "I was not speaking to you," Damien said darkly. "Be silent."

Michel bowed his head obediently. Damien kept one hand on his back, his long, slender fingers tracing the half-finished lines of Valerian House's marque. "Ah, Elua, I shall enjoy this," he said in a low voice. "It is not often I am gifted with such a sweet one to break." He gave me a wry glance. "How shall I thank you, my prince?"

"I am certain we will think of something," I said, knowing we both had differing ideas. Damien huffed out a soft laugh and drew Michel down to his lap, slid one arm around the boy's waist to hold him immobile. His other hand slipped between Michel's legs, unrelenting fingers stroking his phallus while I watched.

Michel shifted restlessly, biting his lip, and the movement made Damien give an appreciative groan. "Good boy," he murmured in Michel's ear, hands going to his hips. He pulled Michel harder against him, pressing him against his own rising arousal. "This is what you want, isn't it, little one?"

"No, my lord," Michel breathed, and all three of us knew it for a lie.

Damien only laughed again. "You will," he assured Michel. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, lips at Michel's ear. "You will beg me for it."

I stood and looked down at Michel, fighting back a wave of desire. He looked small and vulnerable, caught in the larger man's arms, eyes closed as Damien's hands worked at his flesh. I reached out and brushed my fingertips over his cheek, and he looked up at me. His cobalt eyes were full of a solemn sort of desire; it brushed away any last misgivings I had regarding his willingness.

"Help our guest undress, boy," I said. He murmured an acknowledgement, and Damien let him go. Michel slid to the ground and turned around, fingers going to the lowest buttons of Damien's shirt.

Damien watched him wordlessly, arms spread out along the back of the couch, a tiny cruel smile playing about his lips. I tore my gaze away and went to the flagellary. I intended to let Damien choose his own toys, but there was one thing I knew that would unnerve Michel even further.

When I turned back to them, the blindfold in my hand, Damien had shed his shirt, and spread his knees to allow Michel closer. He had one hand fisted in Michel's brown curls, guiding his head as he performed the _languisement_. I froze, sudden longing sweeping over me, enough to make me feel almost dizzy. Damien met my gaze, green eyes glinting in the firelight, and we stared at each other for a long moment until he tightened his grip, making Michel moan around his phallus.

The sound startled me into movement, and I came closer, standing behind him. Damien tugged at Michel's hair, pulling him upright, and I wrapped the black cloth over his eyes, feeling him tense at it. "Ah, no," he breathed, shivering.

Damien's eyes flashed dangerously; he snatched the blindfold away from Michel before I could tie it. His other hand clamped around Michel's throat, forcing him to lift his chin higher. "'No'?" he demanded coldly. "You are in no position to refuse anything, little one. The only sounds I want to hear from your lips are your screams or your _signale_. Do you understand?"

His breath rasping in his throat, Michel nodded hurriedly. Damien let him go, tied the blindfold into place with a sharp jerk, and got to his feet. Michel was left on his knees, head bent in submission, the velvet blindfold very dark against his fair skin. "Very nice," Damien murmured, gazing down at him. "What shall we do with him, my prince?"

I slid a hand into Michel's hair, pulled him back against my hardening phallus. "Anything we like," I said softly, smiling at the groan my words drew from his throat.

Damien moved forward, his hand brushing against mine as he guided Michel's lips to his flesh once more. Longing again threatened to drown me as I watched, struggling to keep my desire in check.

Damien smiled his knowing smile. "Your master enjoys watching us, little one," he murmured, his eyes still locked on mine. "Shall we put on a Showing for the Dauphin?"

Elua, it was perfect. Michel made a helpless sound that might have been agreement; I do not think Damien cared if it was. He clamped a hand around Michel's arm, hauled him to his feet, and led him toward the fireplace, around which several large, thick cushions had been arranged to form a sitting area. I went to pour a mug of the spiced wine Valerian House had provided, hoping to calm my raging desire a bit. Sipping at the drink, feeling its warmth seeping through me, I watched Damien position Michel to his liking with a cool efficiency, facing one of the cushions. He began to tie the younger adept's wrists to each other behind his back, murmuring something in Michel's ear as he worked. I could not hear what he said, but it made Michel tremble, and I could hear the fear in his own voice.

"No, my lord-" He began to plead, and fell silent when Damien laughed softly.

"Ah, what has happened to your obedience, little one? Has your master not taught you better than this?" He pulled Michel back against his chest, fist knotted in his hair. "Or have you become one of those adepts who intentionally provokes his patrons? If that is the case, I shall be very upset. I assure you, I need no such provocation, and you will not be happy with your punishment."

"Don't shame me, boy," I said, pouring a second mug of wine. I carried the two mugs toward the hearth, handed one to Damien. While he sipped it, still holding Michel captive against himself, I eyed my lover sternly. "I _have_ taught you better than this, and Elua help me, if I have to remind you of it again this night..."

His lips parted in a startled breath at the cold, unspoken threat in my voice. Damien, smiling, reached around to hold his mug up to Michel's lips. "Drink."

He did, taking a few deep gulps until Damien pulled it away and finished it himself. Setting the empty mug aside, he let Michel go. "Now... I'm feeling generous, little one," he said, in a voice like velvet over sharpened steel. "So I will give you a second chance, which is more than you deserve... and I _will not_ tell you again. On your knees."

Blind and a bit unbalanced, Michel obeyed cautiously, sinking to the floor with his hands still bound behind his back. Damien went to the flagellary and returned with a few things: a three-tailed flogger, the carved ivory phallus Michel and I used on occasion, and a bottle of oil. While he prepared himself, I undressed and sank into a nearby chair, desire and anticipation making my heart thump erratically.

When he was ready, Damien returned to Michel's side and stood there silently for a moment, giving me an oblique emerald glance. When he did speak, Michel twitched nervously.

"Don't disappoint me, little one," Damien said in a low, dangerous voice. He began to pace a slow circle around the other adept, letting the tails of the flogger trail lightly over Michel's skin as he moved. "I have waited a long time to taste the fruit that has kept my Shahrizai prince so enthralled. I expect you to work just as hard to please _me_."

Michel licked his lips and said nothing, as Damien came to a halt behind him. The Mandrake adept flicked the flogger suddenly, releasing a loud _snap_ that made Michel start. "Bend over," Damien ordered.

Unable to see or to catch himself if he fell, Michel leaned forward a little, and hesitated. Damien lifted one booted foot, planted it between Michel's shoulder blades and pushed him down until his chest met the thick cushion before him. Keeping his boot where it was, Damien leaned forward, resting one elbow on his bent knee.

"Do you remember what I want, little one?" He asked softly, brushing his fingertips along the muscles of Michel's back.

Michel licked his lips, drew a shallow breath. "...Yes, my lord," he whispered.

"Tell me."

"To... to hear me scream, my lord."

Damien smiled. "Oh, yes... That will do, for a start. You will scream for me, won't you, little one?"

I couldn't see Michel's face from where I sat, with his hair hanging forward to obscure his expression. I heard him groan wordlessly, though, as Damien's touch followed his spine, lower and lower, slipping between his buttocks and leaving a trail of scented oil glistening on his skin.

"Good, little one," the Mandrake adept murmured. He stepped away, leaving a reddened bootprint just above Michel's incomplete marque, and crouched beside him. "I want you ready for me." He worked his fingers within Michel for a moment longer, then withdrew and pressed the ivory phallus against his entrance. Michel gasped as the _aide d'amour_ filled him, and then Damien let it go, stood and raised the flogger instead.

He wielded it as a painter uses a brush, with an artistry and precision that only another Mandrake adept could have matched. The room filled with the sharp snap of the flogger against skin, with Michel's gasping entreaties. There was a power and a sort of elegant violence in Damien's movements, a perfect complement to the utter submission in Michel's bent form, and I gritted my teeth as I watched, fighting the urge to join them.

I waited as long as I could, and when I could wait no longer, I stood and went to the two of them. Damien saw me approach and grasped the flogger in both hands, leaned forward to loop the leather around Michel's throat, using it to tug his head up. I released the blindfold, and Michel rolled his blue eyes up to meet mine; they were wild with need, dark and desperate. His face was flushed, whether from desire or from the press of the flogger against his neck, I could not tell.

I leaned down and lifted his chin with my fingers, taking a bit of pressure off the flogger at his throat. "What do you want, love?" I asked softly.

Michel squeezed his eyes shut. "Take me, my lord," he begged in a ragged voice.

Damien went very still; the leather of the flogger creaked softly in his grip. "To whom are you pleading, little one?" He asked carefully.

"Ah, Elua," Michel gasped. "Both of you."

Damien let out a soft breath, nearly a sigh, as if Michel's very words were a physical pleasure. Sharp green eyes met my gaze over Michel's head, remembering our last assignation and questioning silently.

"Do it," I said softly. His lips twisted into a half-smile, and he tossed the flogger aside, grasped the ivory phallus instead. Michel drew a shallow breath, a fine trembling running through his body.

"Ah, but it's not so easy, little one," Damien informed him, working the ivory toy just long enough to make Michel moan before letting it go. He shot me a look that was almost, but not quite, a glare. "I am not here to be commanded, even by the Dauphin. Be patient, and I will give you what you want, in time."

"My lord..." Michel breathed helplessly. I smiled tightly at Damien; I was not too far lost in desire to appreciate his latest move in the intricate game we played. He smiled back, dangerous and self-assured, and left Michel where he was, approaching me instead. "I imagine you will not kneel so willingly for me, my prince."

I met his gaze evenly, and said nothing. His smile widened, and he loomed a bit closer. He was taller than I, and well-practiced at using his height to his advantage. "Hmm... Not even if I asked with respect, for a simple boon, easily granted?"

I stood my ground, once again acutely aware of desire, throbbing in my veins. I raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps if you begged."

He chuckled, a low sound that sent another jolt of desire through me. "That, I will not do," he murmured. "And I know it is not in your nature to submit." To my surprise, he sank to his knees, closing one firm, warm hand around my phallus. His eyes were still on me, sharp and intent, and his breath ghosted over my phallus. "But there are other ways to dominate, my prince," he breathed. "Other ways to take control, and other ways to make even the most stubborn men bend to one's will." With a last glance up at me, he took me between his lips.

Elua! His mouth was hot and wet and utterly unlike Michel's. Where my lover always offered a sense of submission, Damien turned it into a possessive act, performing the _languisement _with a sense of authority... and with all the trained skill of an experienced Servant of Naamah. I was torn between the pleasure of it and the knowledge that I was falling under his power, but when he began to pull away, I reached out instinctively, intending to hold him where he was.

Damien leaned back, just out of reach, raising a finger in warning. When I let my hand drop, he did the same, that cruel smile tugging at his lips again. "Shall I continue?" he asked.

It took me a moment before I could respond. I wanted, very badly, to simply say _yes_… but I would not give in so easily.

"If you wish," I said, and just managed not to say it through gritted teeth.

He bent his head to me again, beginning anew, that same sense of power and control in every movement. Elua knows, I wasn't willing to submit to him... Nor could I bring myself to make him stop. I swallowed back a groan and closed my fist in the golden silk of his hair. Immediately, he pulled back, unfazed by the fact that it nearly tore the hair from his own head, and he caught my wrist in a grip strong enough to bruise. Frustrated, I glared down at him.

He looked up at me coolly, nails pressing sharp crescents into my wrist. "Ah," he breathed. "You begin to understand. There are rules to this game, my lord prince, and they must be followed if you are to get what you want." He let me go, and waited, hands resting on his knees, for me to comply.

Instead, I tightened my grip on his hair. "You think you know what I want? It is more than simply you on your knees, Mandrake."

Cold amusement flickered across his face. "Enlighten me."

"I want you desperate," I breathed, slowly dropping to crouch before him. "I want you in _my _control, bent to _my_ will… gasping _my_ name when I bring you to climax." I leaned forward to kiss him, and he met me halfway, seizing my upper arms and pulling me roughly to him. If our earlier kiss had been a battle, this was a full-out war. He pushed me backward, onto the thick rug that covered the floor; I rolled to the side, pinning him down briefly before he flipped us both once more. We ended, eventually, on our sides next to Michel's cushion, in a tangle of limbs like Siovalese wrestlers who'd had too much to drink. Damien chuckled.

"You want too much," he said in a low, breathless voice, shifting his hips slightly. I could feel his phallus, hard and fever-hot, pressing against my own; the movement made another thrill of desire pass through me. "Suppose I am willing to grant your desires, my prince... What would you offer in return?"

I reached a hand lower, closed my fingers around the two of us together. "What do you want?" I murmured, though I knew the answer.

Damien grinned suddenly, eyes glinting like shards of glass. "You," he said simply. "You, my prince, on your back, giving in return everything that you asked of _me._"

"No," I breathed, tightening my grip. His grin faded to a half-smile, unsurprised.

"Then I suggest a truce, my stubborn prince… else neither of us shall be satisfied." His hand joined mine, and he thrust against me, just enough to make my breath catch in my throat.

He was right, I knew… We could spend the rest of the night waging our war and likely still end in a stalemate, but there were better ways to spend our time.

"Truce, then," I agreed, and smiled back. "For now." There was a challenge in the words, and he heard it, but he only smiled and shifted to pull away. I let him go, and we both rose to our knees, turning to look at Michel. He flushed under the weight of our combined gaze, biting nervously at his lower lip.

"Good, Michel," Damien said, moving back to his place behind the other adept. "You've been very patient. But do you remember what I told you before?" He grasped the ivory phallus once more, and added in a low voice, "I have yet to hear you beg."

"Ah, gods… please, my lord!" Michel gasped, and then cried out as Damien tugged at the _aide d'amour_ again. The Mandrake adept adjusted it for only a teasing moment before pausing again, and he did it over and over, driving Michel closer and closer to desperation with an adept's expert touch. I crouched beside Michel and kissed him, my hands roaming his skin. Though the need to conquer each other still simmered below the surface, Damien and I set it aside, both of us turning our attention to Michel instead. And we made him beg, over and over, for us to ease the raging need that we drove to such heights, until I could no longer bear it.

I moved closer, grasping my phallus, and Damien left off his teasing ministrations, bent forward and seized a handful of Michel's hair instead. "Enough," Damien murmured to him. "Time to put that sweet mouth to better work, little one." He held Michel immobile, fingers stroking his hair as I forced my length into the familiar heat of his mouth.

My adept groaned, drawing me in as deeply as he could, and I was nearly undone simply by the sight of him, so eager despite everything we had done to him. Damien kept one hand on his head and knelt behind him, pulled the ivory phallus free with his other hand. He positioned himself in its place and pushed forward, sinking into the younger adept and drawing a helpless, muffled groan from his throat.

"Blessed Elua," Damien breathed, almost reverently, as he slid deeper inside. His head tipped backward, eyes closed in pleasure, and I felt my own senses nearly overwhelmed. The sight of the two of them was breathtakingly beautiful; added to the ecstasy of Michel's mouth on my flesh, it was almost too much. "Slowly, boy," I urged him in a tight voice.

Damien was in no hurry to finish, either; he took Michel just as slowly, with hard, powerful strokes. Still, it was not long before I had to stop or else be overwhelmed. I pulled away and sat back on my heels to catch my breath, watching the two of them. Still rocking his hips against Michel's, Damien took up the flogger again and held it out to me with a dark smile.

I gazed at Michel. Freed of my attentions, he was moaning wordlessly, over and over, with Damien's every move. I loved to see him so lost to his pleasure, reduced to near incoherence, and I suddenly wanted to know how much farther I could push him. I closed my fist around the flogger with an answering smile curving my lips.

It took him by surprise when I struck the first blow, across his lower back. He let out a cry, and nearly choked on a second when Damien thrust into him, harder than before. The Mandrake adept and I found a rhythm together, a tempo of pleasure and pain that soon had Michel screaming between us.

I lost track of the time; it must have been only a few moments that we spent in this manner, though it felt longer. Eventually, though, I set aside the flogger and moved behind Damien, kneeling at his back.

He knew my intentions, of course, but he didn't move away as I swept aside the fall of his golden hair, baring his marque. It spread in strong, bold lines across his back, shifting sinuously as he moved within Michel. It was a work of sharp, powerful beauty- rather like Damien himself. I traced my fingers over it, and he allowed it. Only when my fingers strayed lower did he pause, body going still, though he still did not move away.

"You go too far," he said warningly, turning just enough that I could see a sliver of an emerald glare over his shoulder.

"Then stop me," I challenged him in a murmur, easing a fingertip inside him. "Give me your _signale_, Mandrake, and I will stop."

Michel made a soft sound of protest at being momentarily forgotten, twisting his hands futilely against his restraints. Distractedly, Damien resumed his slow rhythm, chuckling. "Too clever, my prince..."

I smiled and pressed closer, pushing my phallus against the small of his back as I reached deeper. I found Naamah's Pearl, hidden within, and a shudder wracked his body as I stroked it.

"Shall I continue?" I asked in a low voice, my other hand sliding around to caress his abdomen.

He recognized his own words turned against him, and I saw the corner of his mouth twist up in a humorless half-smile. He reached back and knotted a fist in my hair, jerked me closer so that I leaned half over his shoulder.

"This is not a privilege I grant freely, Dauphin," he said, an angry snarl in his voice. "Give me a reason to allow you to continue, or I will give my _signale_ and call an end to this." He paused. "You already know what I want."

_You, on your back, giving in return everything you asked of me._ I let out a slow breath, considering. Elua, I wanted him… gripped by that longing to claim a victory over him, to take him as a hard-won prize, it was an effort to form a coherent thought. If it meant giving myself to him in turn, did I want him badly enough to continue?

I answered almost before I had finished considering, and I heard Michel draw a startled breath when I gave my answer.

"_One_ thing, Mandrake," I conceded, punctuating my words with a twist of my fingers that made him clench his jaw. "_One_ request, I will grant you, and you had best choose wisely."

I almost didn't expect him to accept it. I do not think I would have, if our places were reversed. But his lips curved in a slow smile, and he let go my hair.

"Agreed," he said in a harsh whisper.

Ah, Elua! I needed no more encouragement... and he gave none. Gripping Michel's hips, he continued to take him, as if I were not reaching for the oil, not spreading it over my fingers and inside him. Only when I placed the tip of my phallus against him did he pause, and lean forward to brace his hands beside Michel's shoulders, allowing me a better angle. Try as he might, he could not completely ignore me after that. I heard his sharp inhalation when I entered him, and it made me smile as I claimed my victory.

I was not unduly rough with him, as I might have been with another. Where a Valerian adept would have welcomed such complete dominance, I imagined Damien would not hesitate to stop me if I overreached what he was willing to give. And, I realized through a haze of desire, I had come to conceive of a strong respect for the Mandrake adept. Some part of me still thought of this assignation as a battle, of Damien as an adversary, and I was too well-trained to so dishonor an opponent.

So I was not rough, but I was thorough. Respect notwithstanding, he _had_ surrendered, and I was not fool enough to think I would have another opportunity. I filled him as deeply as I could; when my body was pressed flush against his, he began to move again, making Michel moan beneath us. It was slow at first, as the three of us explored this new change, finding new rhythms. For a time, I reveled in a heady sense of victory… And then I no longer thought in terms of winning, or dominating; there was only the bliss of Naamah's blessing, interweaving desire between her two servants and myself, enveloping all three of us in an encompassing pleasure. I remember few details after that… I remember Damien's groan as he spilled his seed, and I remember feeling a brief sense of satisfaction at the fact that, together, Michel and I had brought him to his climax. Beyond that, memories blur into a long haze of ecstasy.

When we had finished, silence descended, broken only by three ragged breaths. Damien recovered first, straightening up and pulling Michel upright. I eased myself free, shifted around to brush Michel's thoroughly unkempt hair from his eyes.

"Name of Elua," he said hoarsely, with a weak smile, while Damien untied his wrists. Once freed, he clung to my arm as if afraid he would fall over without my support.

Damien slid a hand into Michel's hair and pulled him back against his chest. "Even better than I expected, little one," he praised him in a low voice, making Michel shiver. The Mandrake adept pressed a kiss to his temple before letting him go, and then turned his attention to me.

"Grant me but a few moments, my Prince," he said. "The night is not over yet."

I waved a dismissive hand, getting to my feet. "I will wait."

Michel ducked his head, hiding a smile; if Damien saw it, he did not acknowledge it. The exertion of our lovemaking had left a sheen of sweat on my skin, and I went to the washbasin to cleanse it away. Michel joined me there, attending me as a servant might, and did the same for Damien when I had finished.

Thus refreshed, I poured another mug of wine and sat on the edge of the bed to sip it, waiting until Damien crossed the room toward me. His expression, both dangerous and pleased, sent the first flicker of misgiving through me. I didn't yet regret the passion-fueled bargain I had struck with him, but I suspected I would before the night was over.

"So," he said in a low voice, stopping in front of me. He reached out to stroke my cheek. "I have the Dauphin of Terre D'Ange at my mercy, at last… What shall I do with you, I wonder?"

I was half-aware of Michel, dropping slowly to his knees a few paces away, but I did not dare turn my attention away from Damien. I leaned away from his hand, lifting my chin. "I thought you already knew what you wanted."

His hand darted forward, catching a fistful of my hair before I could avoid it. "So I do," he murmured, and bent to kiss me roughly. There was passion and an angry sort of triumph in it, this time, and I felt desire beginning to return, despite myself. Damien laughed softly against my lips, brushing his fingertips over my hardening phallus as he pushed me backward.

My shoulder blades met the mattress, and I kissed him back hard, determined not to cede _all _control, even as he knelt over me with one knee between my thighs. His hand slipped lower, stroking my testes before finding my nether entrance. He pulled away from the kiss before pressing his fingers inside me, watching my expression as he did so.

It had been a long time since I last allowed someone to touch me in such a manner. Michel had never dared, and of course there had been no one else for more than a year. Damien was gentler than I expected, however. I fought to keep my expression neutral, though it grew more difficult when he wrapped his other hand around my phallus, stroking it with a slow rhythm to match his other hand.

"There," he breathed, when he found Naamah's Pearl, and I could not hold back the groan of pleasure that escaped me. Smiling, he uttered the words with which we had challenged each other all night. "Shall I continue? Or would you like to give your _signale_, my prince?"

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, forcing myself back under control. It would be easy to say it, and we both knew it. But that would be too much like surrendering… and I _had_ made a bargain, after all. My promise did not preclude the use of my _signale_, but Damien was affording me the same courtesy that I had shown him, and I could hardly justify that surrender when he was being so careful. So I clenched my jaw and said nothing, and Damien's smile widened, his fingers stroking deeper.

"Shadows," Michel said suddenly, the quiet word dropping like a stone between the three of us.

It was so unexpected that I nearly laughed aloud, half-thinking it was a jest... But no, he would not use his _signale_ so lightly. Startled, I raised myself up on my elbows; Damien's hands stilled, then he sat back on his heels, turning to stare at Michel.

"This does not concern you," he said, a dangerous note in his voice.

Michel met his gaze squarely, with a calm assertiveness that I rarely saw in him, and I knew that he would not be swayed. "My name and my _signale_ are written in the contract as clearly as yours, my lord. Need I say it again?"

_That, _I knew, was nearly an insult, to imply that Naamah's servant would ignore a given _signale. _Damien's jaw clenched, and the two adepts eyed each other for another long moment. I had no doubt that Damien could have cowed him with that glare alone... before the _signale_ had been uttered. Now, the game was over, and Michel only stared back wordlessly until Damien let his hands fall from me.

"Do you resent being left alone, little one, or are you only afraid to see your master under another's control?" Damien asked, with a bit of annoyance in his voice. He shifted to sit beside me, his back toward me. I pushed myself upright, still leaning back on my palms, and took a deep breath, my desire ceding itself to relief—mingled with more disappointment than I had expected.

Michel looked at the floor and said nothing, but I knew, with a sudden insight, why he had called a stop to our activities. _Fool_, I berated myself silently. _I should have known better._

Damien ran a hand through his hair. "It has been a long evening," he said, his voice easing into a more natural tone that I didn't recognize. Now that the assignation had been halted, I realized, he no longer needed to play the stern, dangerous adept quite so thoroughly. "I find that I am famished. Will you see that some food is brought, Michel?"

Michel's head shot up, a look of consternation on his face.

"This is not simply a ploy to get you out of the room, little one," Damien said mildly. "Some refreshments would not be amiss. I promise you, the prince will remain untouched in your absence."

Michel did not look convinced, but when I nodded, he rose to his feet and shrugged into a dressing-robe provided by Valerian House. Bare feet silent on the floor, he slipped out of the chamber, closing the door behind him.

"He lasted longer than I had expected," Damien remarked, when we were alone.

I blinked. "You knew he would give his _signale_?"

Damien cast me an amused glance. "It is my job to know what a patron wants... and does not want. He was not happy with the bargain we struck, my prince, and it was plain to see."

With the benefit of hindsight, I had to agree... and I knew Michel and I would have to address the matter, in private. I frowned, thinking. "You made the agreement with me, even though you knew...?"

Damien shrugged one shoulder, giving me a half-smile. "Taking you would be a sweet victory, but there are other pleasures I can claim. Others that may not upset your young lover so much." His voice shifted back to the ominous tone I recognized. "I am still owed _something_, my prince."

"Hmmm," I mused. "What do you have in mind?"

He told me, in a low voice. _Elua_, I thought, as his words fanned the smoldering embers of my desire back into full flames once more.

When Michel returned, bearing a tray of food as he might have done during his years as an acolyte, he paused, staring at us. Damien had kept his word, and neither of us had moved since Michel had left, but I knew my arousal was plain, and he noted it.

"Come here, love," I said softly. Michel set the tray onto a nearby table and approached, began to kneel at my feet. I stood up, instead, and grasped his arm to keep him upright.

Damien politely got up and went to the table, granting us a bit of privacy. I ran the backs of my fingers over Michel's cheek, searching his face. "I am sorry," I murmured. "I made a poor decision, love. I didn't consider how you might take it, but I should have."

He shook his head, giving me an abashed smile. "You couldn't have known. I rather took myself by surprise."

"We will speak of it," I promised him. "Not tonight. Tonight... Do you wish to end the assignation?"

He glanced over his shoulder at Damien, who had settled into a chair with an apple plucked from the tray. The Mandrake adept leaned back, still naked, his outstretched legs crossed at the ankles and his lips wearing an arrogant smile.

"No, my lord," Michel whispered.

I smiled. "Good." I reached out and tugged at the ties to the dressing-robe. It fell open, and Michel bowed his head as he let me slip the robe from his shoulders. I tossed it aside; when I pushed him down, Michel sank obediently to the floor.

"Stay there," I said firmly, though it was an unnecessary command—he knew better than to get up without permission. I went back to my seat on the edge of the bed, and waited, as I had agreed to do.

Damien, unhurried, took a few more bites of his apple; the crisp, wet sound seemed unusually loud in the otherwise silent room. He kept his eyes on Michel's back as he did. Michel did not turn around, but there was a tension in his shoulders that said he was aware of Damien's scrutiny. I plucked the little bottle of scented oil from bed and slicked it over my phallus, while Michel watched, wide-eyed.

Eventually, the Mandrake adept rose to his feet, leaving his half-eaten fruit on the table. He came to stand behind Michel, waiting another long moment before he spoke.

"I do not punish anyone for giving their _signale_," he said quietly. "The _signale_ is for my patrons' safety, and if they are afraid to make use of it, it becomes worthless." There was another long pause, and then he seized Michel's hair, wrenching his head backward. "But you," he hissed, "used it without true need, used it to interfere with another's pleasure. I might forgive another patron for such a thing... But _you_ have been trained to know better, Michel nó Valerian."

Michel licked his lips, drawing a shallow breath as Damien held him immobile. The other adept eyed him silently for a moment before continuing, "As I told the Dauphin, his payment of our bargain has not yet been fulfilled. Since you saw fit to deny me of my first choice, I am minded to collect my debt from _you_ instead." He paused, and smiled darkly down at Michel. "And perhaps I shall remind you of your _signale_'s true purpose, as well." He released Michel and gave him a rough shove. "On your feet."

Michel stood, and met my eyes briefly, a look of mingled fear and need on his face, and the fear made me hesitate. Damien urged him toward me, but I halted him. "Remember, love," I said, "if you give your _signale, _we will still honor it. Damien is owed, yes, but you need not hold it back for his sake."

"I know, my lord," Michel whispered. Simple words, but it was their unspoken meaning that made my blood begin to throb harder. He was willing to place himself in our power, willing to let us do whatever we wanted... If he had pretended to refuse, caused us to force him, it would still have been a sweet pleasure- but oh, Elua, the knowledge that he submitted _willingly_ was far sweeter.

Over Michel's shoulder, Damien gave me a wicked smile, teeth gleaming in the dim firelight. I grasped Michel's hips and turned him roughly, drew him down to my lap. Damien watched wordlessly, arms folded across his chest, as Michel slid down the length of my phallus with a gasp. Gods, it felt good to be within him once more! I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his neck roughly, leaving imprints of my teeth in his skin as I struggled to keep a hold on my control.

Damien took a step closer, lips still curved in that cruel smile. "Relax, little one," he said, and slowly dropped to a crouch before the two of us. "It will be much easier for you."

Michel tensed in my arms as understanding shot through him. "Oh, gods, my lord, no—" he began to plead, and then let out a strangled moan as Damien took him into his mouth.

It was not long until Michel cried out, shuddering helplessly in my arms as Damien and I brought him to climax. When he subsided, Damien got back to his feet, and bent over Michel to kiss me, hard. I could taste Michel's seed on his lips.

"Now, my prince, if you would…" the Mandrake adept murmured against me.

I lay back on the bed, taking Michel with me so that he lay atop me, his back against my chest. Damien moved closer, standing between my knees. He gripped Michel's legs and pushed them out to the side; a moment later I felt his fingers, slick with scented oil, nudging at the base of my phallus as he, too, sought entrance to Michel's body.

Michel trembled, hands clenching desperately at my forearms as if he tried to push his way free. "Ah, no…"

"No?" Damien taunted him, fingers still working. "Give your _signale_, then, little one, since you are so fond of doing so."

I held my breath, wondering if he would. Damien had already pushed him farther than I had ever done, and we were not yet finished. Michel let out a harsh breath, nearly a sob, his loose curls spilling across my throat as he turned his head to look away.

"Good, love," I breathed. Damien met my eyes, and his smile had vanished. In its place was a sort of grave, urgent desire akin to what I had seen in Michel earlier, though on the Mandrake adept it looked far more dangerous. This was no longer a game, there was no longer a sense of punishment; there was only an overwhelming need, and Damien was focused on its fulfillment like a predator on his prey.

Despite that need, he did not rush things. This was not an activity that could be done hurriedly, and he knew it. For long, uncounted minutes he worked at Michel's body, occasionally making him gasp. I gritted my teeth and waited as patiently as I could, stroking Michel's hair and murmuring to him in an attempt to distract myself from my own raging desire.

Finally, Damien's fingers withdrew, and I felt the head of his phallus press against the both of us. Michel inhaled sharply, his breath hissing through his teeth and his body tensing as the other adept pushed inside.

"Easy, boy," I breathed, holding him tightly. With a soft exhalation, Damien slid deeper, until he could go no farther.

"Elua..." Michel gasped out, shuddering in my arms.

Damien bent forward, bracing his arms on the bed at my sides, and began to move, slowly, rocking his body against me and Michel. I groaned aloud at the sensation, ecstasy washing over me. Damien's phallus was iron-hard against my own; added to the tight heat of Michel's body, it was almost unbearably good.

Michel let out a cry, and there was nearly as much pain in it as pleasure. It cut through my haze of desire enough to make me tense, hesitating.

"Michel...?" I said, too far gone in pleasure to add anything more coherent. Above us, Damien paused with an effort, his emerald eyes blazing.

Michel drew in a shaky breath, and let it out in a whisper. "Don't stop, my lord."

A brief smile flickered across Damien's face before disappearing again. He resumed, his hair spilling in a fall of golden silk over one shoulder, swaying with his movements. Michel grasped his arms desperately, moaning; I reached lower and gripped Michel's hips, moving him against me.

I have always prided myself on my self-control... but, Elua! Nothing had ever tested it so thoroughly as this. Watching the two of them threatened to drive me over the edge; yet when I closed my eyes, it only increased the physical sensations tenfold. Damien began to move more quickly, thrusting harder, a desperate urgency driving his body. It made Michel cry out, his voice raw and pleading, mingling Elua's name with wordless cries... and then he moaned out a curse, something I had never before heard from his lips. The sheer rarity of it, the knowledge that he was so undone by pleasure that he uttered it, was all I needed to lose the battle with myself. I let out a cry of my own, back arching under the weight of the two of them. Pleasure seized me in an unrelenting grip and would not let go, catching Michel and Damien in its wake. Elua help me, the three of us found our climax together, in a wave of bliss that obscured all else... it must have been only seconds, but it felt nearly infinite.

When it had subsided, Damien remained motionless for a moment, leaning on trembling arms. When he lifted his head, gazing first at Michel and then me, there was a look in his eyes that caught me by surprise. Equal parts joy, satisfaction, and awe, it was a complicated expression, and he looked away before I could begin to understand it. He slipped away from Michel and sat beside me, leaning on one arm. With my help, Michel carefully eased himself free and moved to lay on his back between us, pushing his hair back from his eyes.

"Gods," he said as a shudder wracked his body, his eyes closed.

"Are you well, love?" I asked worriedly, still trying to catch my breath.

He nodded, and opened his eyes, a smile crinkling their edges. "A bit sore," he admitted, his voice hoarse.

At his other side, Damien huffed out a soft laugh. "Well done, little one," he praised him. He reached out and caressed Michel's skin, a gesture that was now more affectionate than possessive. "My prince, consider your debt paid in full. And… thank you."

There was something more behind his last words, a shadow of the expression I'd seen moments ago, and I knew he meant more than he said.

"For what?" I asked, shifting to put an arm around Michel's shoulders. He rested his head on my chest, looking up at the other adept. Damien did not answer immediately, the first hesitation I had seen in him all evening.

"As I said," he murmured eventually, "Elua's touch is plain to see on the both of you. It was a joy enough to watch the two of you together… but Naamah's Servants are not often granted the opportunity to _share_ in such a blessing, as well. You have given me a rare gift." He looked down at Michel, his expression serious. "I hope you realize how fortunate you are, little one."

He was no longer referring only to the assignation, I realized. Michel reached up to grasp my hand and squeeze my fingers. "I do," he whispered.

Damien smiled briefly, and then turned away. "The night wears away," he said, his voice turning brusque. "I should be on my way."

I frowned. After all that we had shared, it felt wrong to send Damien away, even if only a few hours of the night remained. With a glance down at Michel, I saw in his eyes that we were in agreement. "I contracted you for the _entire_ night, Mandrake," I said mildly. "And _I_ will decide when you may go."

Damien paused, and looked back at me wordlessly. I raised an eyebrow; Michel held out his hand and murmured, "Stay, my lord... please."

After a moment's more silence, Damien made an amused sound. "Since you ask so nicely, little one," he conceded, giving me a pointedly wry look. He lay back beside Michel and rested an arm across his stomach, fingertips brushing my hip. I shifted closer to Michel as well, until the three of us were comfortably entangled. Michel fell into sleep almost immediately, his breath growing calm and even.

"You surprised me, my prince," Damien admitted in a low voice, emerald eyes meeting mine over Michel's head. "I expected this assignation to end like the other."

"It nearly did," I pointed out, realizing it as I spoke. Michel and I had both, now, given Damien our _signales_ for the other's sake.

"Nearly," he agreed. "But not in truth."

"Will you be less hesitant, then, the next time we contract you?" I asked, teasing a little.

He smiled slightly. "There has been a temptation between us since we met, my prince... And I think that the three of us have indulged that temptation as far as possible. Naamah and Elua have smiled on us tonight; but I do not think you will desire to contract me again." There was no bitterness or regret in the words, only a calm statement of truth, and I realized that he was likely correct.

"But if I am wrong," he added, his smile widening, "I assure you, I will not hesitate to accept another offer."

"I will remember," I promised him. Damien closed his eyes, still smiling, and I did the same. Michel's _signale_ echoed in my memory as I drifted towards sleep. We would have to speak of it, I knew... but a deep, satisfied lassitude was already laying claim to me, and I thought no more of it that night.


	16. Yours For The Asking

**Really Long Author's Note:** In the next few updates, I want to try something different… I only have 2 more chapters planned for **Shadows**, and it makes me sad that it's almost done! I have had a lot of fun writing it… but hearing everyone's feedback is really the best part. I wanted to thank all my readers who have made this such a great experience, and so I thought I would ask this: Michel still needs to finish his marque, Raniel needs to officially name him as his consort, and I have rough plans for both chapters... But, is there anything you would particularly like to see? A new toy, another visit to the Night Court or another location, a certain character or a new, um, _activity_? I don't usually do things like this, because most of my stories actually have a plot to stick to… But **Shadows**' structure, or lack thereof, makes it a bit easier to throw in some random elements or even a whole extra chapter. So, if you have any requests, feel free to send me a message or note them in a review! I can't make any specific promises, but I'll do my very best to fit them into the story. Thanks again for being such a great audience and keeping me motivated! :-)

Muted thunder rolled lazily through the sky outside, briefly drowning out the soft rhythm of rainfall. Spring in the City of Elua could be unpredictable and volatile... but this early morning storm was slow and mild, brushing in light gusts against the shutters on the terrace, as if reluctant to wake the inhabitants of the Palace.

In my chambers, however, we were already awake. "Oh," Michel gasped softly above me, his face illuminated by a beatific smile in the dimness.

I shifted my hips again, watching the pleasure suffuse his face. "Good, love?" I asked in a whisper, and was rewarded by another smile.

"Oh, yes," he breathed, his body tightening deliciously around the length of my phallus. "Raniel..." His hands splayed across my stomach, caressing; I caught them and guided them to his own erect phallus. A shiver of pleasure ran through his body, and I closed my fingers over his. Thunder rumbled again, its vibration felt more than heard, as our bodies surged together. Michel came with a gasp, head tipping back, and I followed him eagerly, spending myself inside him as I groaned out his name. There was no dominance, no dynamic of power and submission between us; only a deep passion, simple and profound.

When it was over, Michel lay beside me, one leg still draped over me, heedless of his own seed that still dampened my skin. We stayed there for a while in comfortable silence, listening to the rain subside.

"Michel," I murmured finally, as the bedchamber began to brighten a little.

"Mmm?" He responded drowsily.

"We have something to discuss."

He did not answer right away, but I felt his body tense, returning to full wakefulness. "My _signale_. And Damien."

I was fairly certain I already knew the answer, but I asked him anyway. "Why did you stop us, love?"

There was another long pause, and then he drew in a deep breath. "I was... jealous, I suppose," he admitted. "Watching you take him... Elua, it was beautiful, my lord! And I would have liked to see him do the same, except..." He hesitated, one hand shifting restlessly across my chest. "I... thought it unfair, for him to claim a privilege that I have not."

"I thought as much," I told him, stroking his hair. "But I should have realized it _before_ I made that bargain, rather than after."

Michel shrugged one shoulder, ruefully. "As I should have. I did not expect the night to take such a turn. If I had, I would have told you my wishes sooner. Rani..."

His voice trailed off, hesitant, and I tightened my embrace to reassure him. After a moment, he continued, "If... if you do not want this, I will not insist upon it. You already give me so much, my lord, there is nothing more I need... But I am not willing to _share_ what I have not had for myself." His voice grew more determined as he spoke, and I remembered the look in his eyes a few days before, when he had stared Damien down, daring him to dispute his _signale_.

"Ah, love," I laughed softly. "If you don't know by now that I will give you _anything_ you ask, I must despair of you ever learning it."

He blinked cobalt eyes up at me, delight and concern warring in his expression. "Do not grant me this only because I ask," he entreated. "If you won't enjoy it, neither will I."

"Michel," I murmured, caressing his cheek with a fingertip. "All that I have, all that I _am_, is yours for the asking. But I promise you, that is not the _only_ reason I agree to this."

His lips curved in the sweet smile I knew so well, and he leaned up to kiss me. For another few moments we lay there, simply enjoying each other's presence, until I could hear the servants in the sitting room, setting out the morning meal and beginning their cleaning duties.

Reluctantly, I eased away from Michel and climbed out of bed to clean and dress myself. He followed suit, and we readied ourselves in companionable silence. I reflected, as we did so, how strange it was to have this easy familiarity between us. I thought back to that first night, when I met him as a stranger, first saw him kneeling to serve me. I had never expected to find our lives so intertwined, to find myself sharing morning routines with him so easily.

Hubert was waiting in the sitting room when we emerged, bearing a package wrapped in black velvet and tied with a scarlet cord. "This was delivered for you this morning, Your Highness," he said, handing it to me.

I took it, bemused, and sat down at the table to break my fast. There was an envelope tucked under the cord, and I pulled it free. Michel sat across from me and began to eat, though I could feel his curious gaze on me.

The wax on the envelope was sealed with the marque of Mandrake House, and my lips twitched into a smile as I opened it. Inside was a note, written in the strong, flowing lines of Damien's hand.

_My prince,_ it began without preamble. _The patron-gift you sent was far too generous for a single night's service, especially considering that the privilege of serving you was already a high honor in itself. I hope you will accept this gift I send in return. I imagine that you will find many uses for it, and- _I could almost hear the wry, knowing smile in his voice—_Your little pet should enjoy it, as well. _

He had not signed it, but it was hardly needful. I handed the note to Michel. He read over it silently, then looked up at me with raised eyebrows, smiling a little.

"Open it," I murmured, handing him the velvet-wrapped gift. Warily, he took it and tugged the cord free, unfolded the cloth.

Inside lay a coiled length of rope—though it was no more an ordinary rope than our flechettes were ordinary knives. It spilled out from the wrapping in fine, silken loops, gleaming black and no wider than my index finger, with threads of scarlet and silver woven into it.

"Elua," Michel exclaimed, running a hand over it—and then he jerked back, eyeing the blood welling from his fingertips.

I leaned forward for a better look. What I had taken to be threads of silver were in truth tiny barbs, glinting wickedly at regular intervals like the thorns of a briar rose. I reached out a hand, and Michel carefully placed the coils into my palm. The silvery barbs, I realized, were spaced about the width of my hand, all facing the same direction. With caution, one could handle the rope without injury. A sudden or opposing movement, however, especially if one was bound up in its length, would drive the false thorns into one's skin. Sudden longing clenched deep in my abdomen, and I had to admit that Damien had chosen well. Blessed Elua, the things I could do to Michel with such a gift…

Rubbing at his fingers ruefully, Michel looked up at me, and I knew he was thinking the same thing. I gave him a slow smile, and he flushed.

"Well," I remarked, carefully setting the gift aside. "This should prove interesting."

He shivered, closing his eyes briefly. Ever proper, Hubert cleared his throat delicately and handed me a few more items requiring my attention. The moment passed... though I was already thinking of ways to use Damien's gift.

* * *

That night, when I returned to my rooms, I found Michel sitting on the edge of the bed, near the table that held our_ aides d'amour_. The rope that Damien had sent us lay coiled atop the table, as if he had meant to put it away and not found space for it. He was holding a leather gag, staring at it without truly seeing it, lost in thought.

"Is that for me, love?" I asked softly from the doorway.

He looked up with a smile. "I do not think either of us would fare well with such a change," he said, laughing a little. "It is not in my nature to be cruel."

I leaned sideways against the doorjamb. "Cruelty is only one facet of Naamah's blessing, you know. It need not be the one you employ."

He was silent for a long moment, and then gave me a curious look. "Would you do it, if I wanted it?"

I smiled, spreading my hands. "Yours for the asking, love," I reminded him.

Michel dropped the leather gag back into the drawer, and stood. "I won't ask for that," he said quietly. "Cruel or not, I don't want… I don't want to be in _control_. But you should be careful," he added, a teasing note creeping into his voice. "I can think of quite a few _other_ things to ask of you."

I moved closer and stopped an arm's length away, wondering what he was thinking. "Oh, indeed?" I asked. "And what might those be?"

He looked up at me, thoughtfully, and a glimmer of amusement shone in his eyes. "I would not presume to blindfold you, my lord," he murmured. He reached up a hand, brushing fingertips over my temple. "But I might _ask_ you to close your eyes."

"Ah," I breathed, smiling. So many times I had blindfolded him, knowing that he disliked it, and now it was my turn. I closed my eyes obediently. "Feeling vengeful, are we? What else?"

I could hear the amusement in his voice, now, and even with my eyes closed I could sense his gaze sweeping over me. "Hmmm..." I felt his fingers graze over my wrists, just barely touching. "I would not dare to bind you, but I might ask you to keep your hands... secured."

I clasped my hands behind my back, still smiling. "And now? Shall I kneel and please you, love?"

"No, my lord," he whispered, moving closer. I felt his deft fingers tug at the laces of my trousers. "I reserve that privilege for myself. Now... I ask only that you enjoy it."

Ah, Elua, I did... And I learned, a little bit, a new understanding of the pleasure that Michel felt when I restrained him. Bound by my own word as surely as if he had tied me, I clenched one wrist with my other hand, feeling my own pulse throb beneath my fingers as he began the _languisement_. With my eyes shut, everything faded away except the pleasure of his mouth and hands on me. I felt nearly disoriented with it, adrift in a sea of pleasure, held upright only by the knowledge that it would stop if I let my knees buckle. Instinct made me yearn to stroke his hair as I always did. As the pleasure mounted, I longed to grip him and take him with more force, to punish him a little for the sweet torture he was inflicting… But I kept my hands where they were, and the desperation lent a new edge to my pleasure. I gritted my teeth and endured, because he had asked it… until he finally had mercy and brought me to my climax, groaning appreciatively as I spilled my seed into him.

Breathless, I remained there, feeling him rest his forehead against my thigh. After a moment, he shifted, touching my hands lightly. Taking that as a sign I was released, I opened my eyes and smiled down at him, finally giving in to the urge to stroke his hair.

"I should submit to you more often, love," I said, still trying to recover.

He smiled up at me, lips swollen, face flushed. I could see his unsated desire, glimmering darkly in his eyes, but he said nothing.

I pulled him to his feet, then turned to the bedside table. The little bottle of oil glinted in a corner of the drawer; I pulled it free and pressed it into his hand.

Michel eyed it for a moment, then looked back up at me with a nervous laugh. "I… I scarce know where to start, my lord," he murmured. "In Valerian House… I never had the opportunity."

Completely startled, I blinked. It hadn't occurred to me that Michel might never have taken a man—though I understood it. In a House known for submission, it would be rare indeed for a patron to request such a thing... and Michel had not been long in Naamah's service before he chose to eschew others for my sake.

"Then you are overdue," I said with a smile.

He looked up at me with familiar shadows in his eyes. I had seen them before, hints of uncertainty when things changed between us. He was not entirely comfortable with this new shift, and I knew what he wanted, remembered his earlier words.

"This does not mean you are in control, boy," I said. I let a bit of warning creep into my voice, and was gratified to see him take a sharp, startled breath in response. I grasped his chin firmly and tilted it up. "Shall I... _remind_ you of that, before we continue?"

Michel licked his lips, a flicker of desire and relief passing over his expression, and nodded wordlessly.

I let him go, and took the bottle back from him. "Take off your clothes."

Obediently, he undressed, graceful as he bared himself to the firelight and set his clothing aside.

"And mine," I murmured, when he was done. He finished what he had begun earlier, unbuttoning my shirt and helping me out of my unlaced trousers. When we were both naked, he sank to the floor at my feet, hands clasped in his lap and carefully not touching his own rising phallus.

I gazed down at him for a moment, considering. Then I went to the table and picked up the leather gag Michel had held earlier—and Damien's gift, the coil of barbed rope. When I turned back, Michel was watching me wide-eyed.

I let my lips curve into a small smile, and gestured sharply. He rose to his feet as I moved past him, to the foot of the bed. Our chambers were more limited than the Shahrizai rooms at Valerian House… but we had adapted and made do countless times, and Michel knew what I wanted when I pushed him up against the bedpost. Pressing his back against the carved wood, he clasped his hands behind it, and waited with a bowed head for whatever I willed.

I tilted his chin upwards and ran the ball of my thumb over his lips before I lifted the gag. He let me slide the strip of leather between his teeth. I reached around to secure it behind his head, and then, seized with a sudden idea, I tied it only loosely at the nape of his neck, just enough to keep the ends of the ties out of the way.

"You've inspired me, boy," I murmured. "I like the idea of keeping _yourself_ bound. This—" I flicked the gag against his cheek—"had better not come free for anything less than your _signale_. Understand?"

He nodded, tightening his jaw. Smiling, I hefted the coil of Damien's barbed rope and got to work.

There is an art to binding one's lover; I do not think that the Night Court began it, but I know that they study it. I thought back to the few times I had seen it done, and did my best to approximate it. An adept would certainly have done better, but my end result was not displeasing. I stepped back to eye my handiwork, trying to ignore the several pinpricks I had given myself in the process.

The rope wound once about his throat, forcing him to keep his head back against the bedpost. It came down over his collarbone on both sides, and I had wrapped it over his upper arms and torso, tying his wrists behind him as well. It bound his upper body in a dark lattice pattern, with the rope crisscrossed to pull against itself. I hadn't secured it as tightly as I might have, and the little barbs rested against his skin, glinting cruelly in the firelight but not piercing.

"Very nice," I murmured, tucking back a strand of his hair. He looked up at me silently, the gag still clenched between his teeth, and for a moment I lost myself in his eyes, in the love and trust and desire that went so deeply in them.

I let my fingers slide down his throat and lower, following the lines of rope, feeling the tension in its length and admiring the way his body held a matching tension. "Try to be still, love," I advised him, smiling, and bent my head to kiss the side of his neck. Nipping at his skin with my teeth, I closed my hand around his erect phallus at the same time. As I'd expected, the pleasure made him gasp and shift instinctively, seeking more. The movement against the rope drove the barbs into his skin, and his gasp became a startled cry, half muffled by the gag.

I chuckled, and kept my hand moving. "I warned you," I murmured unsympathetically against his throat. Michel moaned, and I stroked him a bit harder, trailing kisses down his body. I tortured him that way for a long time, my hand working between his legs while I used my mouth elsewhere. He endured it well, trembling with the effort of staying immobile as I kissed his chest and thighs and the lean muscles of his abdomen. When I began the _languisement_, however, he groaned aloud, once more struggling against his bonds and forcing the silver thorns into his own flesh. Gods, the desperate sounds he made, trapped between pain and pleasure… it brought my own desire raging back, and I would have taken him that very moment if we hadn't had other plans. Instead, I kept going, caressing him while he shuddered and moaned above me.

Finally, I pulled away and looked up. His eyes were closed tightly, his jaw still clenched around the leather gag, and he was breathing in shallow gasps—a few drops of blood on his chest showed what the rope had done when he breathed more deeply.

"Had enough?" I asked softly.

Eyes still closed, Michel nodded quickly. I smiled and began to untie him. Spots of scarlet remained on his skin as I carefully freed him, leaving a faint, bloody shadow where the rope had been. I coiled it in one hand as it came loose, noting that we would have to have it cleaned.

I left the gag for last, and he made no move to remove it himself, even after I loosed his hands. Above it, his eyes were dark with need as he watched me. He opened his mouth obediently when I tugged at the leather, and it dropped loosely around his throat—_like a collar_, I thought, and the thrill of arousal _that_ gave me nearly made the room spin around me.

He gave me a startled look as I took one end of the rope and tied it to the circle of leather around his neck. "Did you think I was finished, boy?" I asked in a low voice, managing to secure the knot without piercing my own skin, this time. "Not quite yet." I gave the rope an experimental tug; the knot held, glinting in the hollow of his throat. At the end of my leash, Michel shivered, biting his lip.

I sat on the edge of the bed, and he moved to follow me; when I jerked on his lead, it made him stagger. He dropped obediently to his knees, but without the grace he usually displayed. It made my lips twist in a smile, and he reacted to the cruelty in my expression with a shaky, indrawn breath.

I looped the rope around my palm and tugged again, feeling two of the barbs biting into my skin as Michel came closer. With the makeshift leash, I pulled him down to my phallus once again, sighing as his lips closed around me.

He lifted his head when I placed the bottle of oil in his hand. I jerked the rope again, forcing him back down. "I didn't tell you to stop, boy," I told him, twining my fingers into his hair. With a moan, he resumed, awkwardly fumbling with the bottle while his mouth continued to work. I did what I had longed to do earlier, and gripped him roughly, guiding his movements.

I felt his fingertips press against my nether entrance, hesitant where Damien had been insistent. A shiver of pleasure ran through me as he slipped inside, and I let go of his hair, leaned back on my elbows instead. He kept going, fingers sliding deeper and then out again, mirroring the movement of my phallus between his lips. Ah, Elua, it was good! There was a sweet, near-innocence to his actions, an earnest desire to give pleasure rather than to take it, and I liked it far better than the memory of Damien's hands on me.

"Good, boy," I breathed, and tugged on the rope. He released my phallus and came forward, as far as I would let him, leaning beside me on one arm while his other hand continued to work. His fingertips found Naamah's Pearl, sending a sudden bolt of ecstasy straight up my spine, and I cried out, surprising us both.

Michel looked up at my face, watching intently as he stroked me again. A tiny, pleased smile hovered about his lips, as if he hadn't expected me to respond so eagerly. He coaxed a few more moans from me before I jerked on the rope once more, forcing him to stop.

"Enough," I said breathlessly, pulling him up . I let go of the rope and untied it from the strip of leather around his neck. "I want you inside me, boy. Don't make me wait any longer."

Michel's eyes went wide, and I could see that his uncertainty had faded away. Instead, a new sort of hunger flared to life in his eyes, and he leaned in to kiss me, fervently. I sank my hands into his hair, pulling him closer. Somehow, still kissing, we shifted about, ending with my head on the pillows and Michel above me. The tip of his phallus pressed against me, hard and oil-slick, and I pulled back from the kiss so I could watch him take me.

Eyes locked on mine, lower lip caught between his teeth, Michel pushed into me. He let out a gasp, and I echoed it, clenching my fists in his hair. The quick, sweet flare of pain surprised me; I had forgotten to expect it, but it faded as he pressed deeper.

"Ah, gods," he breathed, sounding awed. I urged him on; with torturous slowness, he slid into me as far as he could. Then, he stopped, and we stared at each other, both overwhelmed. For all the countless times we had made love, this was a brand new sort of intimacy, wonderfully unfamiliar.

"Raniel..." Michel reached up and stroked my cheek gently. For a long moment, we stayed that way, savoring the novelty of it... until I shifted beneath him, wrapping my legs about his hips.

"Don't stop now, love," I murmured, and pulled him down for a kiss. Moaning into my mouth, he began to move, rocking his hips against me.

Oh, Elua, but it was sweet! Michel and I had enjoyed nights aplenty without the spice of pain that he was trained for, and yet this was still new, reminding me of something that I nearly took for granted: I loved him, and there was no greater physical expression of it than this most intimate union. It was as if we were beginning anew, but not strangers to each other as we had been that first night… Joining for the first time, again, but with the full strength of our love already between us.

Michel kissed me, hard, and then rose up on his arms, still moving with an infinite patience that was like to drive me mad. I shifted, and so did he, leaning on one hand to grasp my hip with the other; it was enough of a change to make him press against Naamah's Pearl with every stroke.

I forced back a cry, managing to encourage him with words, instead. "Gods, Michel, there…harder…"

With a groan, he obeyed—a little, but not nearly enough. I let one hand circle round to the back of his neck, and the other slid lower, gripping his buttock and pulling him closer. "Harder, love," I rasped again.

Instead, he slid his hand between us, grasping my phallus. The touch made me gasp aloud, but it was still not enough—not compared to the pleasure of his body inside me, and what else I knew it could do. His breathing was ragged as he rocked against me, and I knew him well enough to see how hard he was trying to hold himself back. I also realized, with a distracted sense of amusement, that he was afraid of hurting me.

"Elua," I said, half exasperated and half-laughing. I hooked my fingers around his makeshift collar and jerked him down until our noses were nearly touching. "I am no more fragile than you've ever been, boy. _Harder_."

With a wordless moan, he finally surrendered. Bracing his hands on the bed, he dropped his head, burying his face against my neck. The length of him ground hard against Naamah's Pearl, once again sending that jolt of pleasure up my spine.

"_Yes_," I hissed through clenched teeth. "Again, love."

This time, I no longer needed to insist upon it. He obeyed, again and again, drawing cries from me that I could no longer hold back. I felt him sink his teeth into my neck, groaning. In turn, I clenched a relentless fistful of his curls with one hand and reached between us with the other, wrapping my fingers around my phallus. For a few breathless moments, we were balanced perfectly together, our bodies locked into a synergetic rhythm. Michel lifted his head to watch me, and my climax was sudden and intense, a wave of throbbing heat that began deep inside and coursed through me like wildfire, setting every nerve alight.

"Gods," I gasped as it subsided. Michel let out a shuddering breath, still moving inside me. A few more deep, desperate thrusts, and then he was gasping my name as the pleasure took him in turn. I kept my hand in his hair, stroking it as I watched him. The look on his face was beautiful, and it sent a shiver of awed delight through me. It was within _me_ that he had found such consuming joy, and I knew how fortunate I was to have him. I could only hope that, Elua willing, I would always be able to please him so.

Spent, Michel made an inarticulate sound, sinking down onto me. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. I could feel his heart, pounding quickly against my own. As our bodies grew calm, I mused over how our two heartbeats, so close to each other, became nearly indistinguishable. For a long, quiet moment, I could not tell which slowly easing beat was mine and which was Michel's. I found that I liked the feeling.

Eventually, Michel stirred, lifting his head to smile at me. "Thank you, my lord," he murmured.

I shook my head. "Don't." I brushed my fingertips over the little marks scattered over his chest, pinpricks from Damien's rosethorn rope. Michel gave me a quizzical look, not understanding.

"I am yours, love," I told him again in a quiet voice. "Yours for the asking, every bit of me, inside and out. But do not thank me for this; that makes it seem as if it were some great sacrifice for me. It wasn't, truly. I only wish we had done it sooner."

"Then we shall have to make up for lost time," he said, his cobalt eyes crinkling at the edges. Slowly, he rocked his hips against me, shifting within me, and I could feel his arousal returning.

"Elua," I laughed softly. It was far too soon for me, but Michel, not yet twenty, was still blessed with the insatiable desire of youth. "Go on," I murmured, when he paused.

We made love once more, unhurried this time. There was no longer the sense that one of us was in control, or not… There was only love, and the shared knowledge that our union carried Elua's blessing. I threaded my fingers into his hair, more gently this time, and drank in the sight of him above me. He murmured my name, over and over, and took me with the slow, measured pace he had sought before. Now that his urgency had been tempered, it went on for a long, wonderful time.

When we were finished, Michel fell asleep almost immediately, on his back beside me. As the fire in the hearth burned low and dim, I wrapped my arm across his chest and let the beat of our two hearts lull me to sleep.


	17. The Dauphin's Marque

**Author's Note:** I haven't yet started on the suggestions from you guys (that will be- mostly- in the next chapters), except one of Spiced Wine's: this chapter is written in Michel's POV, so we get to "see" Raniel more from the outside, this time. This chapter turned out kind of wordy; I had a hard time finding the right words for what I wanted to say, so I hope it makes sense. Thanks for reading, and the next chapter should be coming soon- my self-imposed deadline to finish Shadows is in June!

My back still felt afire when I returned to the Palace, the familiar pain of the marquist's needles not yet dulled to an ache. As I have told Raniel, I am no _anguisette_, not god-chosen to find ecstasy in agony... But I was raised in Valerian House, _trained_ to always feel pleasure with pain, until the differences between the two blurred together. Now, they often become interchangeable. That night, as I walked through the Palace corridors with the hidden marque of my freedom stinging my back, desire should have been throbbing in time with the newly inked lines in my skin. And yet...

My steps slowed as I drew closer to Raniel's chambers. I was very nearly a free man, now, and all that was required was his acknowledgment of my marque. And I knew, as I approached the door, that freedom from Raniel's possession was not something I wanted.

I had grown up in Valerian House, knowing that I owed them a debt for raising me, and that it would be paid when my marque was made. When Raniel purchased my marque, it was different; I became used to the knowledge that I _belonged_ to him. In the back of my mind, there was always the sense that I was his... his to do with as he pleased, his to caress or to strike as he saw fit, and I liked it that way. To many people, it sounds uncomfortably like slavery, a practice not tolerated in Terre D'Ange.

To me, it was different. It is my nature to submit, and I feel more at home in his possession than I ever did in the Night Court. I find release in surrendering control to him, in letting him do as he wished, and despite every pain he has inflicted on me, I only ever feel _safe_ with him. No matter what challenges I face during the day, they are washed away by the nights I spend in his arms, or kneeling at his feet.

And now, I was in no hurry to change the way things were. If I had a choice, I would have left my marque unfinished, would have stayed in his service for as long as he would have me. But if my marque remained incomplete, there would be an even worse uproar when he declared me his consort. As it was, we hoped that earning my freedom, and leaving Naamah's service, would quell some of the protests against my _suitability_ when the announcement was made. I knew this, and I wanted nothing more than to be named as his consort. I would be publicly acknowledged as his first choice, no matter what demands for marriage and heirs that his position as Dauphin would place upon him. But in truth, the knowledge that I was about to become a free man was almost frightening. Though I knew that nothing would truly change between us, I could not shake the sense that had been growing in me since I awoke that morning: that I was about to lose the security of being _Raniel's_. It was an unsettling feeling.

The Royal Guards outside his chambers greeted me warmly as I approached. I traded a few jests with them and then let myself inside.

Raniel was waiting for me as he often did, seated on the low couch in his sitting room with an open book laid across his lap. He looked up when I entered, with a smile hovering about the corners of his mouth. His eyes, though, held a gravity that reflected the importance of the evening.

I gazed at him, prolonging those last few moments before I bared my marque. Elua, he was lovely, graced with the sharp beauty of the Shahrizai and the dark, bottomless eyes of the Cruithne. I forgot it, sometimes, having known him for so long. I knew him well enough to see the beauty _inside_ him, now, and his physical beauty did not always register… until, as now, he would give me a look that seared right through me, branding a reminder of it into me once more.

"Michel," he said, setting the book aside. "It is finished?"

There is a traditional request that every adept must ask, to clear their debt with the holder of their marque. I had begun to limn it with the money he paid to take my virginity; back then, I had never imagined that I would be asking this of _him _when it was done. I drew a deep breath and asked softly, "Will you see, my lord?"

Raniel nodded once, slowly. I turned around and began to unbutton my shirt, suddenly feeling unaccountably shy. It was foolish, I knew; how often had he seen me bare already? But the marque was new, and I felt a bit of trepidation as I prepared to show it to him. He had not seen the final design before the marquist limned it, trusting to my judgment and preferring to be surprised when it was done. I could only hope that it would be to his satisfaction.

The last button came free, and I slipped the shirt from my shoulders. It fell to the floor, and I bent my head to keep my hair from hiding the ink. My heart beat fiercely as I heard Raniel rise and approach.

I knew what he would see, for the marquist had shown me in her mirror when she was finished. At the base of my spine curled the scrolling lines of Valerian House's marque, where they had been limned earlier; as they rose higher, the lines shifted, seeming to interlock like the links of a chain. Higher, they changed again, twisting to evoke whips, or thorns, or perhaps the gracefully curving necks of twin swans, a mirrored version of the symbol of House Courcel. At the finial on the nape of my neck, the lines came together in a knot that suggested three interwoven keys―the symbol of House Shahrizai. While the ink itself was stark and bold against my skin, the design was subtle; suggesting so many things and yet defining nothing with certainty. I loved it... but it remained to be seen if my prince would feel the same.

I needn't have worried. He let out a soft breath, in an appreciative sigh. "It is magnificent," he murmured, sending a thrill through me. I felt his fingertips press lightly against the center of my spine, where the newest ink began. "Ah, my beautiful boy, it suits you."

Relieved, I smiled, not turning around. Raniel stepped closer, resting his hands on my waist. "There never was any debt between us, Michel," he said quietly. "But I wish to do this properly, and not cheat you of your freedom. Is there aught else I must say, or do, to release you?"

"No, my lord," I said. "You have seen it and acknowledged it; that is all that is required."

He pressed his lips to the curve of my ear, making me shiver. "Well, love," he murmured against me. "You are a free D'Angeline, now. How does it feel?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted, turning around to face him. "I think I preferred belonging to you, my lord."

My prince's smile deepened, into that wonderfully dangerous curve of his lips that always sent a wave of heat through me. "Make no mistake, boy," he murmured, in a low voice. "You _still_ belong to me, free or not."

I needed to hear it, and my misgivings began to fade a little, in the wake of desire that finally began to smolder. And I suddenly knew what I needed, knew it within, though the words to describe it eluded me. I hesitated for a moment, reaching up to lay my hands against his chest, where I could feel his heart beating. Even when I _knew _what to ask, I was not accustomed to asking for it outright, despite his recent insistence upon it.

"...Will you prove it to me, my lord?" I asked finally, glancing back up at his face.

In the shadowed depths of his eyes, I saw that he understood. "You do not believe me?" he murmured, teasingly, and kissed me. Unable to help myself, I swayed forward into his arms, and I could feel his arousal pressing hard against my stomach. His hands, still at my waist, slid around to caress my back. I flinched when he brushed against the lower edge of my newly inked marque, and he made a pleased sound against my mouth. A second touch, higher on my back, drew a whimper from my throat.

He relented, chuckling, though I could guess that it was only a temporary mercy. He caught my wrists, instead, still kissing me with a slow, unhurried passion. Grasping my fingers in one strong hand, he held them immobile between us while his other hand unlaced my trousers. I stepped free of them, and stood bare before him, my hands still caught in his grip. Raniel kissed me again, harder, and then moved toward the bedchamber, pulling me with him.

Inside, he paused long enough to close the door behind us, and then pushed me to my knees. I bent my head, sneaking a glance at him from the corner of my eye. I loved to simply watch him move, to see in motion the grace and power that years of sword-training had built into his body.

He strode to the bedside table and came back carrying a rope- not the rose-thorn rope that Damien had given us, but a shorter length of white, silken cord, one we had used several times before. He crouched before me, and I offered him my hands.

Raniel laughed quietly, beginning to wind the rope around my wrists. "Elua," he said, and jerked the rope tight before adding a new loop, farther up my forearms. "I love it when you willingly give yourself to me, Michel."

"I know, my lord," I murmured, smiling up at him. "So do I."

He paused to meet my gaze, and a moment of shared understanding passed between us- a silent, mutual acknowledgment of what we were to each other. It was, I imagined, rather like the moments of quiet calm before the storm begins.

Then the moment passed, and Raniel resumed his work. I watched his hands as they wound the rope about my arms again, and again, until my forearms were bound flush together from wrist to elbow, with my palms against each other. It limited my movement far more than usual, forcing me to keep my elbows bent and my hands elevated. I tried to pull myself free, testing the knots; they held true.

"Very nice," Raniel said. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead, a last gentle gesture before he got to his feet. His hands went to the laces of his trousers, and I glanced aside at the mirror standing against one wall, wondering what he saw. Kneeling there with my arms bound before me as if in prayer, I looked like a penitent, at Kushiel's temple, perhaps… A wanton one, naked and flushed, already achingly hard.

It was fitting, I thought, as I rose up on my knees to worship him with lips and tongue, using my bound hands as well as I could. Some might say there is blasphemy in thinking such things, but I do not believe it. We were bade to _l__ove as thou wilt;_ what was I doing, if not that very thing? Blessed Elua is not a jealous god, to demand his own worship above all others. In that moment, Raniel was the only thing that mattered, the only thing worthy of my attention, and if that is a form of worship, I do not think Elua begrudged it.

Raniel rested both hands on me, stroking my hair in wordless approval. For a few long moments I forgot my fears; I knew only the familiar taste and feel of the man I loved, and the joy that filled me when I could please him. Shifting my hands a bit awkwardly, I dared to press my fingertips against his nether entrance, uninvited. He tightened his grip on me, but did not bid me to stop. Naamah's pearl was hidden too deeply for me to reach that way, but the motion of my fingers was enough to make him spend himself. He breathed my name like a prayer as I swallowed his seed.

When he let me go, I sat back on my heels, arms still bound and bent before me. "Get up," Raniel ordered roughly. As I did so, he readjusted his clothing, leaving me once again feeling bare and vulnerable while he was fully clothed.

"So, boy," he said, in a dangerous voice. "You want proof that you are mine?"

I nodded. Raniel reached out and seized my upper arm, turned me and pushed me toward the wall. He stepped up behind me, the length of his body pressing along mine, his clothes a distracting texture on my bare skin.

"I shall make this abundantly clear to you, boy," he breathed against my ear. "This—" he shifted a little, pressing one hand flat against the small of my back—"is _not_ the mark of your freedom." He leaned back, and began to trace my marque—the older part, begun in Valerian House- with the edges of his fingernails. "This is _my_ marque. Every welt and every bruise I have ever given you is now inked into your skin."

I held my breath as his fingers traveled upwards, over the lines that intertwined and braided themselves together. He continued in a low voice, "These are _my_ chains that bind you; the whips whose lashes you crave from _my_ hands."

Elua, it hurt! My skin was too tender after the marquist's needles; even the light touch of his nails made me clench my teeth. But the words were exactly what I needed to hear, and they drew moans of pleasure from me, rather than pain. He kept going, agonizingly slowly, tracing over every bit of the new ink, while I shuddered under his hands' tender cruelty.

He outlined the swan-neck curves on either side of my spine, murmuring, "…the symbol of _my_ House, marking you as royal property, boy." I arched my back, gasping as he moved higher, up to the finial at the nape of my neck. "…And the symbol of my blood," he whispered, shaping the intertwined keys of House Shahrizai on my skin, "which has burned for you since I first laid eyes on you."

Slowly, he retraced his fingers' path again in reverse. "Every drop of this ink marks you as mine, love. Every line declares that you belong to Raniel de la Courcel, and everyone who ever sees it shall know it."

He knew the perfect words to say, when I myself couldn't have said what I needed. Tears stung my eyes, and they had nothing to do with pain.

Raniel slid a hand into my hair, still moving with deliberate slowness, and drew my head back so he could murmur in my ear once more. "Do you believe me now, love?"

"Yes, my lord," I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut.

He was smiling; I could hear it in his voice when he answered, "… But you want more." It was not a question.

"Yes," I whispered brokenly.

"Good." He pushed my head forward, until I leaned against my bound arms, braced against the wall. "Because now, you shall prove it to _me_."

He moved away, his footsteps muffled by the thick rugs. I stayed where I was, my head leaning on my wrists, listening to my breath rasping unevenly over my pounding heartbeat.

"I know how much you prefer the whip, love," Raniel said, from across the room. There was a curious note of mingled apology and amusement in his voice. "But I imagine my marque will fare better under the lash if it has time to heal, first. I must needs use something different tonight."

I bit my lip, resisting the urge to turn around and see what he chose.

"Something with more precision, I think," Raniel mused, returning to me. He stopped a few paces away, standing behind my left shoulder. I could have seen him, if I'd turned my head, but I dared not. Silence stretched between us for a long moment. I braced myself against the wall and trembled with the simple torture of _waiting_, unknowing.

I had an instant's warning, no more: the swift rush of air as he swung the cane. It laid a stinging line across my buttocks, sudden and startling. I gasped, clenching my fists.

Silence fell once again, while I waited for the next blow. When Raniel spoke again, his voice was low and tight with desire. "Who do you belong to, Michel?"

He had asked me the same thing when he'd purchased my half-limned marque. Now it was finished, and my answer had not changed.

"I am yours, my lord..."

A second blow landed just below the first, and I moaned through gritted teeth.

"Make me believe it," my prince said sternly. "You asked for proof, love, and now I want the same. Who do you belong to?" In his rough voice I could hear an echo of my own earlier need. It startled me to realize that he, just as much as I, needed to know that nothing had changed. I had no time to think on it, though, as a third blow from the cane lit a line of fire across my skin.

"You, my lord!" I cried out.

"I don't believe it, yet, boy," he growled, striking me once again. Suddenly, desperately, nothing mattered but proving it to him… and not simply because of the cane he wielded. He had deftly reversed the tone of the evening, and only later would I realize how thoroughly it worked. In my desperation to prove myself to him, I convinced _myself_ twice over.

At that moment, however, all I knew was that the man I loved needed something from me. Under the swift, whistling strikes of the cane, I gasped out that I was his, that I always would be, that I belonged to him and no other. It felt as if every blow drove the truth of my own words deeper inside me, drove away the last of the worry that had plagued me. It was not long; later, I bore less than a dozen marks from the cane, but in memory it seems to last for hours.

Eventually, Raniel tossed the cane aside; I heard it land on the floor. "I know," he said softly. I sagged against the wall, relieved more by his words than the cessation of the cane. He moved closer, wrapping his arms around me. I could feel his phallus, once again just as hard as my own, pressing against my hip. "I know, love."

I turned to look at him, and the look in his dark eyes was nothing but love, lit with the passion that underlay everything he did. Elua, how had I ever thought that my place in his heart would be altered by a few lines on my skin? He smiled down at me, and gently thumbed away a tear that had escaped me earlier. "Go and lay down," he murmured, jerking his chin toward the bed. His smile widened, and he drew the fingertips of one hand down my spine. "On your stomach. I want to see my marque on your skin, boy."

I went to the bed, desire pulsing through me. I lay propped up on my bound forearms, and turned to watch my prince surreptitiously as he undressed.

He caught me looking, but said nothing... nor did he try to hide his smile as he shrugged free of his shirt. Elua, that beauty could cut like a knife! I could not tear my eyes away as he bared himself to the firelight. Prince of Terre D'Ange, he bore no ink of his own, and I was suddenly glad of it; it would have marred the perfection of his body. In the flickering light of the hearth, he was a sculpture of gleams and shadows, power and strength evident in every muscle, every line. My breath quickened, simply from watching him move, and I closed my eyes against the wave of longing that swept over me.

Raniel came to the bed and knelt over me, bracing his hands beside me. Wordlessly, he pressed his lips to the nape of my neck, and then moved lower, trailing kisses down the center of my new marque, making me writhe helplessly. At the base of my spine, he grew rougher, nipping at my skin and running his hands over my buttocks. I flinched, groaning, as his fingers dug into flesh already bruised by the cane.

"Hush," he murmured, dropping kisses between his fingers. Ah, Elua, I could do nothing but tremble beneath him, while he balanced me between cruelty and tenderness, torment and pleasure. After a few moments, he relented, shifting to stroke my nether entrance with oiled fingertips.

At his murmured direction, I moved onto my side, turning to look up at him. He pushed my knees up, halfway to my chest, and knelt behind me, the head of his phallus pressing against me. His entrance drew a ragged moan from my throat, but he didn't stop, watching me as he pushed forward. It hurt, for I was not as well prepared as I usually was; I welcomed it, gasping unevenly until he stopped, with his hips pressed flush against me.

"Ah, Michel," he said softly, almost reverently. He bent forward, bracing himself over me as if trapping me against the bed- though the last thing I wished to do was flee. I groaned as he began to rock his body against mine, moving with slow, hard strokes. He used his own control as a weapon to torture me, filling me over and over with a deliberately slow pace. If I could, I would have grasped hold of his shoulders and urged him on with a desperate grip... But with my hands bound, I could only gaze sideways up at him and plead for more in a ragged voice.

He smiled down at me and did not grant my pleas, though he moved one hand to take hold of my phallus. He stroked it in time with the movement of his own, which only drove my need to greater heights. For a long while he took me this way, until finally I could sense my climax approaching like a precipice before me, just out of reach.

"Not yet, love," Raniel said breathlessly, and the denial made me whimper.

"My lord, please-"

"You belong to _me_, boy," he cut me off, roughly. "And you will not spend yourself until I command it."

Helpless to do aught but obey, I moaned, struggling to hold myself back from that looming precipice. "Please, Rani-"

He did not reply, only fixed me with a blazing, dark gaze that was so intense I had to look away. He continued to move with that maddeningly slow rhythm... only now, it had become too _muc__h_, and I had to fight to keep my own control, to hold myself back at his command.

An interminably long time later, he at last had mercy on me. "Now, love," he whispered, finally increasing his pace. I needed no more than that; released, I spilled over that cliff's-edge, lost in ecstasy, twisting the bedclothes in my fingers as I cried out.

I did not need to look up to know he was watching me. He had told me more than once that he loved to see my expression when Naamah's gift of pleasure took full hold; and I could feel the weight of those coal-black eyes on me even when my own were shut. He murmured something in my ear; praising me, I think, though his exact words escaped me. His pace slowed once again, and he released my phallus, bracing his hand on my knee instead.

Spent, I lay there gasping, with my body rocking under the force of his thrusts, too overwhelmed to move even if he hadn't been holding me down. He took me at his leisure, reminding both of us, thoroughly and without words, that I was his. In the shelter of his arms, I relished every moment of it, for I belonged nowhere else. He made it last a long time, and then it was my turn to watch as pleasure suffused his face above me. He groaned out my name, spilling his seed within me, his fingers gripping me hard enough to bruise.

Afterward, we both fell easily into the sleep of the sated… perhaps too easily. When I awoke some time later, my arms were still bound; we had both forgotten about it. Raniel's breathing was steady at the back of my neck; he had wrapped one arm possessively around my waist. When I stirred, he awoke, tightening his arm around me.

I leaned back, into his embrace, and then froze, hissing as my back met his chest. Still groggy, I had forgotten about the marque until that moment.

Raniel chuckled, and reached up to begin untying my bonds. "Do you feel better, love?"

"Very much." It was true. My back and buttocks were all one slightly throbbing ache- and I felt better than I had all day. "You always know exactly what I need, my lord, better than I know it myself."

"I know _you_," he replied, pulling away the last of the silken rope. He gave me a rueful smile. "And recent events have reminded me to be more considerate of what you want... and don't want. I could see well enough that you weren't as happy about the marque as another adept might have been."

"Now, I am," I said, shifting to lay my freed hand along his cheek. "I shall be much happier thinking of it as _your_ marque."

He turned his head, pressing a kiss onto my palm. "I meant what I said earlier, love," he murmured. "All of it. This marque does not represent a debt paid, for you have never owed me aught. I would gladly have purchased your marque and set you free that first day, if you had wanted it." He fixed that dark stare on me, and brushed his fingertips along my spine. When he spoke again, there was no playful edge of cruelty in his voice; only calm statement of fact. "This is _my_ mark on you, and it changes nothing except that I can name you my consort with a bit less objection."

The words sent a shiver down my spine, chasing after the touch of his fingers. We had not spoken of that often. Sometimes, when I thought about it too much, I still found it hard to believe that he would declare me his consort; it was like a Mendacant's tale, something too good to happen in truth. I told him so, and he laughed softly, laying back down beside me. "You are mine," he reminded me, wrapping his arms about me again. "I have proven it to you; now, I shall make certain that all of Terre D'Ange knows it, as well."

"So what now?" I asked, smiling, as I settled against the comfort of his body.

"Now?" He sounded amused. "Now we sleep, love. But tomorrow, we have a fȇte to plan..."


	18. Manipulation

**Author's Note:** This chapter is dedicated to Spiced Wine, who suggested the gift Raniel gives Michel, and therefore challenged me to write something outside my "comfort zone"! It's a little shorter than I'd hoped; I've been writing like crazy to finish it before I go out of town for the next two weeks. Thanks for your reviews, everyone, and enjoy! :-)

The Lady of Marsilikos came to the City of Elua in late spring, visiting with her family. On her second evening at the Palace, Mother threw a state dinner in her honor, and Michel attended as my guest, as he always did. It was a pleasant event, and the Lady was a charming guest, but Michel had been tormenting me all evening with longing glances when no one was watching. I waited only as long as was polite before excusing myself from the dinner.

My cousin Césare gave me a knowing look and a wink as we said our goodbyes for the evening. I winked back, and Michel laughed softly as we left the Hall with my arm around his shoulders. Both of us had had a bit more wine than usual, and my blood was running hot beneath my skin. It seemed to take far too long to reach our chambers.

"I have a surprise for you, love," I murmured in Michel's ear, as we finally stepped into the sitting room and shut the door.

"Oh, indeed?" He asked with a smile, wrapping his arms about my neck. We kissed, passionate and artless in the wake of the evening's wine, and for a moment I forgot what I'd intended to do.

"Come here," I breathed when I remembered, and drew him toward the bedchamber. On the table sat the basket that had been delivered earlier that day, and I handed it to Michel.

Raising his eyebrows, he sat on the bed to open it. Inside, resting on a lining of midnight blue silk, lay the bridle that I had had made for him. In the basket, it looked like nothing more than a tangle of soft leather straps and shining buckles, but the silver bit- bound with leather at both ends to protect his teeth- made its purpose unmistakable.

I am not sure what reaction I expected, but the one he gave certainly surprised me. He eyed the bridle for a long moment, and then set the basket aside, drawing a deep breath.

"It is very well-made, and I am flattered... But I am sorry, my lord, I cannot wear it."

I blinked, taken aback. It was not at all like him to refuse outright. Tendrils of anger and hurt, fed by the wine I'd drunk, began to anchor themselves in my mind. _After all I have done for him, he will refuse me this? _I shoved the thought away, and took a step closer, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "Michel...I have bound you and whipped you, collared you and leashed you, made you kneel at my feet... but you will not allow this?"

He looked up at me, somber-eyed. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. "It seems a silly thing to refuse, after everything... but this is different. I am not a beast, my lord, and I will not be treated like one."

"Elua!" I said with a laugh, and it came out more harshly than I'd intended. "I'm not proposing to saddle you and ride you about the Palace, Michel. I only think it would look beautiful on you."

He didn't reply, and I scowled down at him for a moment, considering. It was easy to say _no_, but he had not yet spoken the word that would stop me, and I wondered if he was only trying to provoke me. I pushed his head back, forcing him to look up at me. "I chose this for you, Michel," I growled. "And I _will _see you wear it."

I'd been mistaken, I realized, as his jaw set in that rare but implacably stubborn way he had. He didn't try to push me away, but the flash of anger in his eyes startled me into letting him go. "Will you force the _signale_ from me? I do not want to give it over such a foolish thing, Raniel, but I will if I must."

We stared at each other for a long, silent moment. We had quarreled before, little disagreements that were more teasing than anything... But never had we moved each other to true anger. It was an ugly, uncomfortable feeling. And I knew, as I looked at him, that the bridle was not worth this strife.

"Forgive me, Michel," I murmured, kneeling beside the bed. He shook his head to disagree, but I overrode him. "You are right; it _is _a foolish thing, and I should not have pushed you over it." I closed the basket and set it aside.

My lover stared down at his hands for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said, for a third time. "After everything you have done for me, I should-"

"No," I said quickly, trying to forget that I had thought the same thing. There were two sides to that coin: after everything that he _had_ done for me, who was I to say he could not refuse? "You owe me nothing, Michel- especially not something that you find distasteful."

He gave me a wan smile; he still looked upset by our sharp exchange of words. It had been a minor argument, but I felt a bit shaken myself.

"Come here, love," I said, tugging on his hand. He slid off the edge of the bed and sat beside me, twining his fingers with mine. With my free hand I brushed his curls aside and kissed the side of his neck, making him shiver.

"Ah, Raniel..." He breathed, and then I knew that things were well between us once more. We coupled on the floor, far more gently than I'd originally intended. It was far sweeter, too, knowing that I was forgiven, that we had weathered this difficulty without damage.

* * *

The next day, I had ample time to puzzle over Michel's refusal. I was supposed to be helping my father with some trade agreements, but I had long ago learned the trick of letting my mind wander while _appearing_ to listen to his advisers' prattle. I mulled over Michel's words, and everything that I knew of his desires... and I made myself think of him with the part of my Shahrizai blood that has nothing to do with rough pleasures. He had hidden fault-lines beneath his skin, just as anyone else; I had never allowed myself to look for his, but I could see them in my memory nonetheless. How could I not, when we had been together for so long?

I thought over all these things, and a pattern began to emerge. His unhappiness when Damien forced him to crawl, contrasted with his willingness when I'd tied a makeshift collar about his throat... I knew that he craved surrendering, putting himself in another's control, but it seemed there was a fine line between control and humiliation. A collar might be for a hound... but it also might be for a slave, and what was a slave but subject to his master's control? That was something he would allow, and enjoy.

But a bridle... he saw it only as an animal's accoutrement, and therefore a tool of humiliation, when forced onto a man. I had crossed a line I hadn't known existed for him, and it was no wonder he'd been upset when I demanded such a thing.

I smiled ruefully to myself as Father's secretary droned on. If only Michel could see himself in the bridle as I'd imagined him... He _would_ look beautiful in it, and humiliation had been the farthest thing from my thoughts when I'd chosen it. _No matter_, I told myself. _You'll make a gift of it to Valerian House, and think no more about it._

When I returned to my chambers that evening, the lamps had all been dimmed; only one remained lit in the sitting room. Thinking that I was alone, I went to the bedchamber, and stopped when I opened the door.

Michel was waiting for me, and he had left a few more lights burning, just enough to make the room's shadows long and numerous. He knelt on the floor before the bed, nude, his hands clasped in his lap- and with the bridle's bit between his teeth.

Desire began a slow burn in my lower body. _Elua_, I thought hazily, stepping into the room. The silver bit gleamed in the light, and the dark leather was a sharp contrast to his light complexion. The straps met at bit, temple, and brow, connected by silver rings; they lay against his cheek, under his chin and alongside his nose, bound his soft curls against his head. Gods, it was a beautiful sight, and the fact that he was willing to try it for my sake only added to my arousal.

I stopped in front of him, gazing down. There was something strange in the set of his shoulders, in the way he held one hand clenched in the other. Just as quickly as it had begun, my desire began to fade. I knew what I would see, but I made him meet my gaze regardless.

"Michel."

He hesitated before raising his head. In his eyes was such a look of shame and defeat that I nearly took a step backward, for all that I had expected it. He had forced himself to don the bridle to please me, and I hadn't reckoned how much it cost him.

"Take it off," I told him. He looked up at me, startled, and then shook his head once. He was so determined to please me, even at his own expense... Guilt began to weigh on my shoulders, for making him feel that he must endure this.

"Take it off, love," I said gently. "And do not make me tell you again."

A frown creased his brow, and he eyed me for a moment, as if he thought I was jesting. Then he reached up to unbuckle the straps, giving an exasperated sigh- a bit offended, I think, that I had rebuffed him after he had made such an effort.

"My lord should make up his mind," he said softly, resting the tangle of leather and silver in his lap.

I crouched before him and brushed his hair back from his face, holding his gaze. "Michel, you have given me a gift, and I am grateful for it, truly. But if it must come with that look of defeat in your eyes, then the price is too high for me to accept it."

"My lord-"

I pressed my finger over his lips, continuing, "There _is_ pleasure in claiming a victory, in forcing a lover to surrender to one's wishes. Elua knows, I have sought it myself. But I do not desire that from _you_, love. You have always given yourself to me willingly, proudly, and I will not trade that for shame and defeat... no matter how lovely you looked wearing it," I added with a small smile.

He did not return the smile, gazing at me with serious eyes. It came unbidden to me then, the insight to which I was born, granting me a dubious gift. I could see the fault-lines that marked Michel, in truth now rather than in memory. I knew exactly what I could say to sway him. A moment passed as I struggled with the decision, and I am not proud to say that I gave in to the temptation. I can only say that I am as I was born, and all Terre D'Ange knows how thickly Shahrizai blood runs in my veins.

"I still wish to see you wear it," I said, taking the bridle from his lap. "You _do_ look lovely in it. But you _will not_ wear it... unless you can do so with the same willingness and pride that you always show me.

"And if you never desire to wear it, that is your decision, and I will not force you. We will speak no more of it." I stood and took the bridle back to its place in the drawer of our bedside table. When I turned back, Michel was still kneeling where I had left him, watching me.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly- if it was a sigh of relief, I could not tell. "My lord," he said again, as I came back to him. "May I-?" He rose up on his knees, reaching for me.

"Of course," I murmured, letting him tug at the laces of my trousers. That night, I was _not _gentle. Neither of us wished for it.

* * *

He knew I had manipulated him; he was too intelligent not to know, though he said nothing of it. Some few days passed, and three more times he tried again, thrice met me on his knees, naked and bridled... Each time, he seemed a little more at ease, and each time I told him again how beautiful he looked. And three times I told him, gently, to remove the bridle.

More than a week passed before he tried a final time, and I might have thought he had given up... But I caught him deep in thought several times, a look in his eyes as if he were leagues away, and he would startle, embarrassed, when he noticed me watching. Life went on apace, and we did not discuss it. I became resolved once again to donate the bridle to the Night Court, but a part of me knew that there would be no need.

And then, he surprised me once more. He was waiting for me, again, when I came to my rooms one night. He was bridled as he had been before, kneeling and nude... but this time, he had his hands behind his back. He was turned slightly, enough for me to see his bound wrists when I entered the room. He had restrained himself with the chains we'd saved from his Midwinter Masque costume, and though he'd had to fasten them loosely, they held him well enough. I smiled inwardly, feeling desire's familiar pulse begin to throb. If I wanted the bridle removed, he'd ensured I would have to do it myself... but more tellingly, he had felt no need to be able to free _himself_.

I closed the door behind me and strode toward him, stopping at his side. He did not move, expecting me to speak his name as I had the other four nights. Instead, I seized the leather strap at the rear of the bridle and forced his head up and back. The movement made Michel rise half up off his heels, arching his back, and he drew in a startled breath. I held him there and studied his face, finding no trace of the shame or defeat I had seen before. By making of the bridle a privilege he had to earn, rather than something to be endured, I had shifted his perceptions. Now, in his eyes I saw exactly what I always did: longing, eagerness, and a fierce pride that he could serve me. There was something more, as well- he knew that I would not turn him down this time.

"Can you speak?" I asked.

His eyelids flickered. "Yes," he said, thickly.

"Tell me your _signale._"

He gave it in a whisper, the word hampered by the bit between his teeth, but recognizable. If he had need to give it in earnest, I would know it.

"Good boy," I murmured, and released him. He sank down onto his heels, and I let one fingertip trace the edge of the strap that lay against his cheek. "This was never meant to degrade you, my beautiful boy," I said quietly. There was a ring attached to the end of the bit, where the straps were joined. I hooked a finger through the ring and tugged, making him turn and lean toward me, until his cheek was pressed against my growing erection. "I am not this aroused because I see you trussed up like an animal." I rested my hand on the other side of his head, holding him there against me. "This is only another means of control, and I like to see you in it for the same reason I like to see you gagged, or blindfolded, or chained... because I know you will let me do anything I wish."

Michel whimpered, shifting against my phallus. I bit back a groan, and let him go. "Get up."

He rose gracefully to his feet, and I grasped the ring that joined the straps at his temple, guiding him to the bed. He sat on its edge, and I stood over him for a moment, letting my fingertips trace along his collarbone. He closed his eyes, and a look came over his face that I knew well. He had surrendered; _willingly_, this time. It was true- he would let me do whatever I wished, and he would welcome it.

"Spread your legs, boy," I murmured. With a soft exhalation, he obeyed. Gods, the way he looked, bound and helpless and ready for me... I had to grit my teeth against another surge of desire. I crouched before him, fingers following the line down the center of his body, watching his reaction with a smile. He shivered under my touch, tensing eagerly, and let out a moan when I circled around his phallus without touching it. I let my hand move lower; without being told, he shifted a little, until I could press against his nether entrance.

I pushed two fingers into him, deeply, watching him wince. With my other hand I reached into our drawer of _aides d'amour_, fumbling blindly until I found the bottle of scented oil. Michel shuddered in helpless pleasure as I prepared him for myself. When I pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh, he gasped, shifting restlessly as if urging me to move higher. I smiled against his skin and moved in the other direction, leaving a tracery of slow kisses down to his knee. His wordless pleas had become more desperate by the time I reversed direction again. When I finally closed my lips around the tip of his phallus, he groaned, tipping back his head.

I sank my fingers deeper and let my lips slide down his length. Michel moaned around the bit with the effort of holding himself in check. I could hear the chains clinking behind his back as he strained against them, but the rest of him remained still as stone; he knew better than to lose control.

When I'd had enough, I released him and stood. He made a helpless sound of disappointment at the loss. He looked up at me with wide, desire-darkened eyes behind the bridle's straps, his skin flushed. With a cruel smile, I grasped the bit and pulled him to his feet, turned him and pushed him back down, so that he was bent over the bed with his feet on the floor. His marque was bold and black along his spine, the story of our entire relationship inked into his skin.

Silently, I nudged at the insides of his ankles, making him spread his feet wider. He turned his head to the side, eyes shut tight. When he was positioned to my satisfaction, I stepped away to undress myself.

He whimpered as I fit myself against his entrance; as I pressed into him, the sound became a groan, raw with need. "Patience, love," I whispered, and withdrew again. For a few moments, I teased him this way, easing in and back with only small movements, while he trembled beneath me. When I could stand it no longer, I seized the chain between his wrists, pulled back hard, and buried myself completely inside him.

Muffled by the bit between his teeth, Michel cried out, clenching his fists. His body tightened around my phallus, and I leaned forward, half-falling and catching myself with a hand on his shoulder, nearly overwhelmed.

"Gods, Michel," I groaned breathlessly. Leaning over him, I thrust harder, taking him in earnest now, all teasing forgotten. "Oh, Elua..." I let go his wrists and grasped a handful of soft brown curls and leather, instead. Michel gave a choked cry, mingled protest and encouragement, muffled by the bit between his teeth, as I craned his neck and bared his throat. I bent down to kiss his neck, that place behind his jaw where his pulse pounded beneath his skin. It was enough; he gasped aloud- it might have been my name- and shuddered helplessly under me as he spent his seed. For a few moments I knew nothing but his breath hissing around the bit, the taste of his skin, the heat of his body beneath mine. Then I was gritting my teeth as the climax swept over me, washing away every awareness but that of pleasure.

When I had caught my breath, I moved away and freed him from the chains. He rolled onto his back and sat up, then bent his head to let me loosen the straps of the bridle. The leather had left fierce, red lines across his face from the pressure of my hold on it; and there was a round imprint of the center ring between his brows.

I took his face in my hands and kissed the circular imprint gently, running my thumbs over the lines on his skin. He sat with eyes closed until I stopped; when he opened them, gleaming cobalt, they bore an expression I could not read.

"You were right," he murmured.

I raised an eyebrow. "About...?"

He waved his hand toward the bridle, where I had set it on the bed. "For insisting upon it."

"I gave you the choice, love," I murmured, wondering what he meant.

Michel shook his head slowly, giving me a rueful smile. "It was not a true choice. You knew I would acquiesce, eventually. And I am glad of it," he added, forestalling my reply. "I had misread your intentions, my lord, and I am very glad to be proved wrong. I should have trusted you; you have pushed me before, never asking anything of me that I cannot give. But, Raniel..."

He hesitated, collecting his thoughts. My guilt of a few days ago began to creep back, the weight of it sinking back onto my shoulders "If you give me the time to do it, I will realize it myself. Please do not manipulate me like the nobles in Court." His smile returned, teasing gently. "That is not the part of your Shahrizai heritage that is meant for me."

I winced. "I know," I said, taking his hand in mine. "I am sorry, Michel. I had hoped only to give you a gift, something to please us both... it seems I have handled every part of it badly."

Michel shifted closer, his blue eyes intent on mine. "Well..." he said, his lips curving. "Not _every_ part." He kissed me, sweetly, and there was forgiveness in it. I did not deserve it, but I clung to it nonetheless, and my burden of guilt lightened a little.

When we parted, I rested my forehead against his, unwilling to let him go. "I love you," I whispered. "Michel, if I ever act such a fool again, I shall trust you to point out my idiocy to me."

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "'If', my lord? You make it sound as though there were some question of it happening again."

I laughed softly. "_When_, then," I agreed. "For I am certain it will happen. Will you promise to tell me, Michel, when I don't seem to realize my own folly?"

"I promise," he whispered, and kissed me again.


	19. Beginnings

**Author's Note:** Despite the title, this is the last chapter I intend to write for Shadows. I would just like to say **Thank You** to all my readers, who have been very patient with the glacial pace of my updates, and left so much positive feedback! Raniel and Michel are two of my favorite characters, and I've had so much fun with this story. Though it started out as an excuse to write a lot of sex scenes, it started to grow a bit of a plot on its own... but I feel that I've exhausted the story's potential, and anything further would seem forced. I am sure I will write more Kushiel fanfiction in the future (about Damien, perhaps...?), but right now other projects are calling to me. Thank you again; it seems like everyone enjoyed reading Shadows as much as I enjoyed writing it! And thank you of course to Jacqueline Carey, for creating a world where my prince and his adept can exist :-)

Also, this chapter is dedicated to FrenchCaresse, who suggested an idea for it months ago! Enjoy!

The day of our fȇte had dawned as most others in midsummer: bright, cloudless, with just enough of a breeze to offset the heat. However, as I waited outside Naamah's Temple, I gazed up at the sky and wondered why it seemed so much more brilliant than usual. This was _not_ any other day; was it my imagination, prompted by that knowledge, that made the colors seem richer, the air taste sweeter? Or did everyone else notice the beauty in the day, as well?

_No matter_, I told myself, leaning back against the temple wall to gaze at the sky above. _It is fitting, either way._

Michel emerged from the temple, his eyes catching mine from across the inner courtyard. I went to meet him, holding out my arm. "All is well, love?" I asked, as he stepped into my embrace.

"Yes," he murmured, smiling up at me. With my arm about his waist, we headed to the outer courtyard, where our horses waited. "I am no longer a Servant of Naamah."

There was an odd note in his voice, as if he were unsure of how to feel about it. I pressed my hand against the small of his back, where the marque of his service was inked into his skin. "You've served her well, Michel," I reassured him.

He gave me a grateful look. "I had expected to feel... somewhat different. Lost, perhaps. My whole life, I have known no other calling than Naamah's service. But..."

I paused and turned to face him. "But...?"

The corners of his eyes crinkled as his smile widened. "But I don't," he murmured. "And I believe it to be a sign that I have made the right choice."

At his words, I felt the easing of a tension that I hadn't known I'd carried. I suppose, in the back of my mind, I had been worried that he had doubts. I hadn't realized it, though, until that worry was dispelled. "I'm glad," I said. "What _do_ you feel, Michel?"

He looked up at me thoughtfully, and said after a moment, "I'll tell you, my lord... but not yet."

"Oh, indeed?" I chuckled, and kissed him lightly. "Keep your secrets, then, love. I'll wait."

We rode out from Naamah's temple, and made our way across the City of Elua to our second destination. As we rode, I had to conclude that it wasn't only my imagination that painted the day so beautifully. It seemed as if the City's white stone gleamed blindingly, the clothing of the passers-by was bright as jewels, and every street vendor's offering smelled like the most delicious foods I'd ever eaten. I dared to wonder if Blessed Elua was smiling on this day, and on Michel and I, as he had done before. Whether that was true or not, I was glad we had taken the horses rather than shut ourselves into the carriage on such a breathtaking day.

We stopped outside Elua's Temple and left our mounts in the care of a young acolyte. In the temple's dim, cool vestibule, we were met by a priestess of Elua. She was bare-headed and unshod, wrapped in the blue robes of her order. She gave us both the kiss of greeting, smiling all the while.

"Prince Raniel," she said, as kneeling acolytes helped Michel and I out of our boots. "What draws Your Highness to Elua's presence this day?"

From my seat on the stone bench, I looked up at her. She was older than I had first thought; faint lines edged her eyes, and traces of gray glinted in her russet hair. There was wisdom behind her gaze, and a knowing smile on her lips- she knew the answer to her own query.

I responded anyway. "Love, my lady priestess."

Her smiled widened, genuine happiness that made her look much younger than she was. "That bodes well for Terre D'Ange, my Prince," she said. She turned to include Michel in her smile, addressing the both of us. "There are some who will oppose the love you have for one another. It is the way of things, the nature of being the Dauphin; you will not be able to please everyone. But to them, you may say that Elua's priests have seen his hand on the two of you... And there is nothing Terre D'Ange's ruler needs beyond Elua's blessing."

I bowed my head, feeling a little shiver of awe raise gooseflesh on my skin. "Thank you, my lady priestess."

Wordlessly, still smiling, she stepped aside, holding one arm out to welcome us deeper into the temple. Michel, looking serious, handed me an armful of the anemones we had brought as an offering, and we stepped into the temple proper.

At midsummer, the Temple of Elua was a celebration of life; flowers and weeds alike grew with joyful abandon in the temple's inner sanctum, open to the sky. The ground was soft and warm under my feet, and a sweet scent of heather arose as we crossed the open space.

We stopped before the altar, gazing up at Elua's visage. The statue of Elua there is one of the oldest in Terre D'Ange. His image gazed down on us with a smile akin to that of his priestess, his hands held out in welcome. One palm was scarred with the wound from Cassiel's dagger, when he had proclaimed his mortality in response to the One God's summons. Under the shade of the oak trees that stood on either side, the statue was dappled with a fluid, shifting pattern of sunlight. The stone lines were weather-worn from centuries of exposure, yet powerful and beautiful still.

I stepped forward, knelt to spread my offering of anemone flowers at the base of the altar, and kissed the statue's bare foot. When I finished, Michel followed suit, then rose to stand beside me. For a few long moments we stood there in silence, while the sun warmed our shoulders and the breeze rustled the oak leaves.

_Blessed Elua_, I prayed silently, closing my eyes. _We have come to honor your precept, to Love as Thou Wilt. Every day with Michel has been a gift that I cherish, and I will be forever grateful to you for bringing him into my life. Your priestess has only confirmed what I have already felt: that your blessing is on the two of us. I pray that you will grant us both the strength to remember it when it is needful. _

Michel's fingers brushed my hand; I turned to face him. His eyes seemed to shine, reflecting the brilliance of the morning in deep cerulean, somber and joyful all at once. I took a deep breath, twining my fingers with his.

"I had planned the words I wished to say," I said ruefully. "But now I find that I cannot remember them."

His eyes crinkled at the edges, a near-smile. He didn't answer, giving me time to think. At last I reached up to lay my palm against his cheek. "We both know the reasons we are here, love... but they bear repeating. When I name you as my consort, the whole of Terre D'Ange will know of our love for each other, and that is as it should be. But this..." I glanced around us at the Temple, the living beauty that was spread at Elua's feet.

"This is for us alone," I said softly. "I love you, Michel. You have taught me _how_ to love, to _truly_ love, with every part of my being." I knelt before him, taking his hands in mine. I had thought over this for months; both of us knew that my position as the Dauphin would make things difficult for us. But I knew, with a certainty that went deeper than my soul, that those difficulties would matter not. "And I swear to you, in Elua's name, that I always will love you, no matter what the future may bring."

Michel closed his eyes; when he opened them, they glimmered with unshed tears. "You asked what I felt, at Naamah's temple," he whispered. He sank to his knees, bringing us eye-to-eye, his fingers squeezing mine. "It was joy, my lord. My service to Naamah brought us together, but... I am beginning anew, with you, and it feels more right and true than aught I have ever done. And no matter where the gods lead us, Raniel, I will love you always."

So there, under the brilliant blue sky, with Elua as our witness, we pledged our love for each other. We kissed when it was done, sweet and joyful, and the light of Elua's blessing filled me as we did, until I felt as if the very sun itself had settled blazing in my chest. Michel regarded me with sparkling eyes when we parted, and I knew without words that he felt the same.

We left the temple with the priestess' smile at our backs, and rode out into the City. We rode side-by-side, hardly needing to speak. A solemn, contemplative delight filled me, as I thought of the blessing that Elua had granted us. I exchanged wordless smiles with Michel like a lovestruck boy, and knew that any further words were unnecessary.

Back at the Palace, we returned to my chambers, where the servants had thrown open all the windows and the terrace doors, letting in the sunlight and the sweet summer air. Michel turned to me with a smile, and kissed me.

I pulled him close and kissed him in turn, long and thoroughly, until desire began to wear at my resolve. Reluctantly, I pulled back, leaning my forehead against his. "Later, love," I told him.

He let out a slow breath, and let go the handful of my shirt he had grasped. "Promise?"  
"Oh, I do indeed," I said with a little smile, pressing my hips against him before I let him go. He swayed a little where he stood, regaining his composure.

"I...I should go, my lord. There are a few things to attend before our fȇte." It had been his idea to hold our celebration in the Palace gardens, to take full advantage of midsummer's glory, and I had left the arrangement of the fȇte in his hands. "I will see you this evening?"

"Of course," I said, and he left the room smiling.

The afternoon passed quickly; I spent it shut in my chambers with my steward Hubert, instructing him on a task I needed him to complete. When the sun began to sink below the treetops, he shooed me away to dress.

Michel had chosen my clothes for the evening: dark breeches, and the tall black boots that he liked me to wear. Over it was a silken shirt of midnight blue, that he'd said made me look even more a Shahrizai than usual. I eyed myself critically in the mirror as I did up the jet buttons, and had to agree. I inherited my father's pale skin and blue-black hair; the shirt brought both colors into a sharp intensity.

Hubert appeared in the door to my dressing-room. "Michel nó Valerian is here, Your Highness," he announced formally.

Michel was waiting for me in the sitting room, and his eyes lit up when he saw me. "Elua, my lord, you look..."

"Not nearly as lovely as you, my beautiful boy," I told him truthfully. He smiled sweetly, glancing down at himself. He wore soft brown breeches and a cream-colored cambric shirt, open just enough to bare the delicate lines of his throat and collarbone. His hair spilled around his face in loose, rich curls. The sight brought back a memory of the first time I had seen him, a memory of the immediate desire that had been like a seed, planted the moment I had seen him kneeling at my feet in Valerian House.

Now, that seed had grown and matured, becoming so much more than simple physical desire. Elua willing, it would continue to thrive for a long, long time.

"Are you ready?" I asked, taking his hand.

For answer, he squeezed my fingers and gave me a sparkling blue look that spoke silent volumes. We made for the door, and I glanced at Hubert.

"You'll take care of everything?" I confirmed.

My old steward bowed, no doubt annoyed by the foolish question. We had discussed nothing else all that day, and I knew I could trust the task to his capable hands... but I wanted it to be perfect. "Have no fear, Your Highness."

"What was that about?" Michel asked when I had shut the door.

"Ah, now it's my turn to keep a secret," I teased him. "You'll find out soon enough, love."

The sun was just beginning to set in a blaze of fiery orange behind the Palace walls as we entered the garden. I paused under the wrought-iron gate and gazed at the fȇte that Michel had arranged. Servants moved among the trees with candles, lighting the lanterns that had been hung throughout the garden; they shed pools of soft, glowing light in the deepening dusk. Along the western side of the garden, the banquet table had been set, already piled high with all manner of delicacies. Garlands of blossoms, moon-white and midnight blue, draped gracefully from the trees. Chairs and tables were arranged under the trees around the edges of the garden; low couches and Akkadian cushions had been set in half-hidden alcoves, deliberately left unlit. Even the spring-fed pond had been decorated, scattered with floating paper lanterns in the fashion of Bhodistani festivals. In one corner, musicians had already begun to play.

"This is marvelous, Michel," I murmured.

He surveyed the garden with pride. "It did come out quite well," he allowed, grinning. "The adepts know a well-done fȇte when they see one. I didn't wish to shame the Palace with too modest an affair."

I chuckled. "I think we needn't worry on that account."

In the center of all the finery was a level span of manicured lawn, meant for dancing. Most of the guests were already there, mingling in groups, glasses of wine in hand. Just then, someone took note of Michel and I standing in the garden gate, and let out a cheer. Others took it up, and the two of us entered our fȇte, hand in hand, to greet our guests.

Elua, there were so many! Family and friends, nobles and peers of the realm- those who approved of my relationship with Michel, and those who did not, for they needed to hear our announcement just as much as the others. My parents, fair glowing with quiet pride, for they knew the purpose of this night's celebration. My brother Julien, with his teasing grin and mischievous blue eyes. My grandparents, visiting from Alba for the summer, and my aunt Alais.

Dowaynes of the Night Court, here to celebrate- though they didn't know it- the naming of a former adept as the Royal Consort. Adepts, friends of Michel, young men and women who had been raised alongside him since childhood. They moved through the crowd with more grace than the others, fluid grace drawing the attention of all whom they passed.

Damien.

I saw his back first, but I knew him, knew that dark golden hair and the confident set of his shoulders. When I called his name, he turned and gave me a secretive smirk. He was the one person outside my family in whom we had confided our plans.

"My prince!" He exclaimed, raising his wine glass in salute. "I am honored to be your guest at such an important occasion!" He leaned forward to give me the kiss of greeting, lips brushing my cheek. "I don't imagine you'll forgive me for this," he added, and kissed my lips fiercely, his free hand sinking into my hair.

Desire, sudden and sharp, lanced through me. It had always been like waging war with him, and this was no different. Determined not to grant him any advantage, I seized a fistful of his shirt and jerked him closer, forcing my tongue past his lips.

He chuckled against my mouth, and let go of my hair. I shoved him laughingly away, while the nearby guests cheered and laughed, or murmured to each other. Damien took an easy step back, wine glass still held in his other hand, and gave me that knowing smile before turning his piercing green eyes on Michel.

"Damien," Michel said, a neutral greeting, though I could hear the faint desire in his voice.

The Mandrake adept could hear it, as well. He moved closer, raising a fingertip to glide across Michel's cheek. "For you, I need not resort to diversions, eh, little one?" Without waiting for an answer, he kissed him, slowly and thoroughly. I watched them, watched Michel clench his fists against the urge to embrace the other man, and my desire only grew more acute.

It only lasted a moment before Damien released him, leaving him flushed. "Until next time, little one," the Mandrake adept murmured. Raising his glass to me once more, he melted into the crowd with a last smirk cast over his shoulder.

Michel cleared his throat, his face still faintly red. I grinned and slipped an arm around his shoulders. "We may need to call upon Mandrake House soon, my love," I breathed in his ear.

He shivered against me. "I think so," he agreed.

There were many more guests, and it took the better part of an hour to greet them all. The musicians had just begun to play in earnest, and a few couples had begun to dance, when my mother appeared at my side. "There is someone I think you would like to see," she told me, nodding toward the gate.

I turned to look. Through the crowd, I saw a swirl of _sangoire_ silk, a glimpse of a cruciform sword. "Is that-?" I caught Michel's wrist and pulled him through the gathering, a grin spreading over my face. They had been abroad for months, and had never yet met Michel, but now they were _here_...

"Phèdre!" I exclaimed, breaking through the crowd to enfold my father's foster-mother in a tight embrace. She laughed and hugged me back. "Elua! When did you arrive in the City?" I asked when we parted.

"Not more than an hour ago," she replied. "We weren't entirely certain we would make it in time, but the weather held fair for us." As well it should, when the Master of the Straits was her oldest friend.

I hadn't realized how much I'd missed her. She had often been gone for months at a time on one adventure or another, but finally seeing her again reminded me that I'd missed her calm strength. There were very few people who fully understood who I truly was... but Phèdre had held the Name of God on her tongue, and she understood me better than nearly anyone, perhaps even Michel. I'd confided in her often, sensing even in my childhood that she carried a quiet wisdom. She was older now, but I could see in her the beauty that the most fortunate of Naamah's servants possess- beauty that remains even when youth fades. Silver liberally graced her sable locks, and fine lines framed her eyes and lips, but she still carried her slender frame with grace, and her dart-stricken gaze was just as intelligent as ever. Like Elua's priestess, her smile made her look much younger than she was. Faintly, I could feel the draw of her _anguissette's_ nature calling to my Shahrizai blood... the same pull I had always felt, so familiar that I wouldn't even have noticed it had she not been gone so long.

I turned to Joscelin, a tall shadow at Phèdre's side. "Raniel," he said, the corners of his pale blue eyes crinkling. He pulled me into a bone-creaking embrace, thumping me on the back. My foster-grandsire had his own strength, different from Phèdre's, and his had not diminished with age either. His hair was pulled into a club that gleamed with as much silver as gold, but he was still known as the most dangerous man in Terre D'Ange, and he carried himself with a quiet confidence in that fact. The only man permitted to be armed in the Royal Presence, he had been my first and best teacher in combat.

When he let me go, I drew Michel to my side and introduced him. He was flushed, awed and delighted at meeting them at last, but he maintained his adept's charm. Phèdre and Joscelin greeted him warmly, happy to finally meet the young man of whom I had written so many letters.

Duty to our other guests soon drew me away, though Phèdre promised to come back on the morrow to visit us. I saw her draw Michel aside, murmuring something that put a thoughtful look on his face, before a young Marquise claimed my attention.

The fête became more of a celebration as the evening wore on, though we had not yet made our announcement. Tiny glasses of _joie_ were served alongside the wine as guests began to take to the dance floor. There was a steady flow of servants replenishing the food on the banquet table, for there was no time arranged for the meal; all were free to partake of the food at their leisure. Michel and I found each other again before too long, and shared a table with several Valerian adepts who had grown up with him.

After we'd eaten, Celeste nó Valerian begged a dance with Michel, and a young Comtesse claimed one of me, and I lost track of Michel through a few songs. Then the musicians struck up a lively Eiran tune, fast-paced and joyful. Eiran dance had been the height of fashion since the spring, and most of the dancers burst into motion right away. My cousin Leandre swept past me, laughing, and caught my arms, drawing me into the dance. I felt a grin spread across my face as my feet caught the rhythm and Leandre spun away. This particular dance sent all the participants whirling about, exchanging partners with abandon. The steps of the dance were less important than the simple joy of moving with the music. It was a dance seen more often in Night's Doorstep than the Palace, but that was hardly enough to stop us. I looked for Michel, but the dance floor had become little more than a dizzy blur of motion, whirling skirts and flashing boots. I let my feet follow the music, dancing with Adepts and Comtes, Dowaynes and even a Duchese, linking arms or holding waists as they came, reaching for the next when they went.

As the song was nearing an end, Damien appeared before me, clasping my forearm in a steely grip as we spun about. Our gazed locked, and his lip curled in a dangerous smile, mirroring my own. Four more steps, then the direction changed. We switched arms, and it was my turn to dig fingers into his flesh, searching for a wince that he would never show me. Two steps, four steps, and I released him, ready to catch my next partner. He did not let me go, catching my other arm once more, and drawing me back the other way as if we were starting again.

"What are you doing?" I said over the music, as the dancers around us whirled into a new rhythm, catching different partners.

Damien grinned as we switched arms once more. "I know this song, my Prince. You will be glad of the change in a moment." Before I could discern what he meant, it was time to let him go, and he allowed it this time, whirling away without another word. I caught my next partner around her waist, wheeling us both in circles, one way and then the next. Laughing delightedly, she passed to her next partner, and I found myself locking arms with Michel.

I grinned at him as we spun; the joy of the dance filled me, and I saw it reflected in his shining eyes. Moments later, I realized what Damien had been about. The song came to a triumphant end, and at last the dizzy motion ceased amid cheers and laughter. If Damien had not altered the pattern of our dance, Michel and I would have passed each other; but as it happened, we finished the dance still linked arm-in-arm.

Caught up in the excitement, I kissed him fiercely. And as I did so, it occurred to me that now was the perfect moment. When I lifted my head, I could tell that he had thought the same thing.

"Ready, my love?" I murmured. He nodded.

I turned to face the gathered crowd, and slid my arm around Michel's waist, holding him at my side. "My lords and ladies," I called out, as the musicians began another tune. I glimpsed Damien gesturing sharply at them, and their instruments fell silent. The guests turned their attention our way, all eyes on the two of us.

"My lords and ladies," I said again. "Honored guests, allow me to thank you for your presence here. Though you may not be aware, we have invited you here for more than a simple midsummer celebration." There were a few raised eyebrows at that; a few smiles, too, from those who could guess what was coming.

"You have all met my love, Michel nó Valerian," I continued. I smiled down at him; when I looked up, I could still feel his eyes on me, watching me as if I were the only man in the world. "Tonight, it is with great joy that... I name him my Consort." Simple words, but words I had longed to say for months.

The guests erupted into cheers, calling out their good wishes. I kissed Michel once more, savoring it. My heart felt full to bursting, so joyful that tears pricked my eyes as I let him go. He squeezed my hands, beaming up at me.

"Shall we retire for the evening, love?" I asked in a low voice.

He exhaled softly, desire making it something very near a moan. "Yes, my lord..."

Fueled by wine and _joie, _the guests' excitement only grew when Michel and I began to move toward the garden gate. There were a few faces around the edges of the crowd that looked less thrilled, and I had expected that. There would be members of the Court, and people of the realm, who did not approve... and we would face them, in time. Tonight, though, I refused to worry about it.

The more supportive guests- who, thankfully, seemed to be the majority- gathered about us, cheering and laughing. I realized that they intended to escort Michel and I to our chambers as if we were a newly-wedded couple. As we were swept through the gate, I glanced back at my family. They watched us go with indulgent smiles, Phèdre's dart-stricken gaze deep and dark, even from a distance. My father nodded once, approvingly, and I grinned as the press of bodies bore us out of the garden.

Our trip through the Palace was all boisterous chaos, ribald jests and laughter echoing through the halls around us. "Where are we going?" Michel asked over the din, when I guided him away from our normal route. The crowd shifted to follow us, too distracted to wonder why we were not going to my usual chambers.

"You'll see," I answered. I led them all to a different wing of the Palace, down a short hall to the new chambers that Hubert had readied during our fête. Someone had gotten hold of some flowers, and were tossing petals over us as I ushered Michel through the door. The noise only intensified as the lot of them, cheering uproariously, made as if to push inside with us. Breathless with laughter, I shoved at the door, then paused when I caught Damien's eye. He was the lone calm figure in the crowd, and his lips quirked as he watched Michel and I.

"Thank you," I told him simply, meaning it.

He raised one eyebrow. "You know how to thank me, my prince," he said.

I laughed and shut the door without replying, finally quieting the noise somewhat. Michel was looking around the room with wide eyes. "My lord, is this...?"

"Our new home, love," I answered. "I took the liberty of having your things moved from your old room." I nodded toward the desk in the corner of the sitting room; his books, notes and writing instruments had been carefully arranged in the same order he'd left them. Hubert had also moved his clothing and other belongings, of course, but I knew that the academic work would delight Michel the most.

I took him on a tour of our new quarters: the bedchamber and the dressing room, the terrace that wrapped around the edge of the whole suite. It opened over a smaller garden than we'd had before, but just as private, planted with a deliberate tangle of wildflowers that had reminded me of Elua's Temple. And then I led him back to the bedchamber, and opened the door that was set into one corner.

It led into our own little flagellary, a private version of the torture chambers at Mandrake and Valerian Houses. It held another bed, and a pommel horse, and a whipping cross... furnished with the help of Damien, who had happily suggested a craftsman who made such things. I had been planning the room for a long time, every detail from the hooks on the bedposts to the dark velvet coverlet, and Hubert had done a wonderful job readying it for us. A fire was already crackling in the hearth, and candles had been lit throughout the whole suite, lending a soft glow. Michel gasped when he saw the room. "Oh, my lord..."

He stepped away to make a circuit of the room, taking in everything with a quiet delight in his eyes. I stayed at the door, watching him. "Elua, it's... it's amazing," he said, pausing to open the flagellary cabinet and gaze at its contents. He traced the coils of the whip with his fingertips, and glanced over at me. "I had no idea you were planning this, my lord. "

I smiled. "I thought we should have facilities of our own," I told him. "Valerian House is always an option... but some nights are best enjoyed at home."

Michel shut the cabinet and returned to me. "Thank you," he murmured, taking the hand that I held out to him. "For this, and... for everything, my lord."

I plucked a flower petal from his hair, feeling the corner of my mouth twitch upward. "I must confess, it was not an entirely unselfish gesture."

His eyes crinkled at the edges. "Well, I forgive you," he teased, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I gazed down at him, feeling the early smolderings of my inevitable desire. "We needn't make use of it tonight, if you don't wish it," I told him. We had a lifetime to enjoy our new chambers, and it had been a long, if fulfilling, day. I didn't wish to end it poorly by pressuring him.

I should have known better, of course. Michel looked up at me with an expression that said he would not have it any other way. "This is how we began, my lord," he murmured. "I can think of no better way to begin our new life together."

Ah, gods! Holding his gaze, I pulled the door shut behind me and then kissed him, slowly. He tasted of _joie_ and joy, and I drank it in. His arms tightened around my waist, fingers gripping my back as if he would never get enough. I turned, pushing him up against the wall, and in the span of a heartbeat the kiss turned fierce and hungry. His hands moved to my trousers, and we fumbled at each other's clothing for a moment, still kissing. He freed my erect phallus and closed a hand around it, stroking me until I caught his wrists and pinned them to the wall.

"Don't move, my love," I told him in a growl, and he nodded, flushed and breathless from the kiss. I let him go, began to undo the buttons down his shirt.

"You've never called me _my love_ before," he breathed, watching my fingers work. "I rather like it, my lord."

"You _are_ mine now, love," I told him in a low voice, as I freed the last button and let his shirt hang open, baring his chest. "Every bit of you." He closed his eyes, hands still held against the wall, a sweet smile of surrender lighting his face.

I sank both hands into his hair. "All these lovely curls are mine," I breathed, holding his head back against the wall. A little tremor ran through his body, and he caught his lower lip between his teeth. I moved closer, pushing my hips against him, trapping him between my arms. "This sweet mouth is mine," I continued, and kissed him until he was trembling against me. I moved down, across his neck and chest, claiming him for my own with kisses and murmured words as I freed him from his trousers.

"This is all mine," I said, trailing one fingertip down the center of his abdomen. "And this," I added with a slow smile, curling my fingers around his phallus. "Every inch, love."

"Oh," he gasped softly. "Rani..."

I kissed him once more, then let him go. "Down," I ordered in a rough whisper.

He sank obediently into a crouch, sliding down the wall with his hands held beside his head where I'd put them. With one hand in his hair, I guided my phallus to his lips with the other. He accepted eagerly, moaning softly as I eased my length between his lips.

"Good boy." The praise, or somewhat in my voice as I spoke it, made him shiver, his fists clenching restlessly against the wall. I rocked my hips forward, slowly, and tipped my head to the side to watch him. His rich brown curls hid most of his face, but I could see one eye, closed with the curve of his lashes stark against his cheek, and his lips, wrapped around my phallus... Elua, he was beautiful, and for a moment the very sight of him was so enthralling that I nearly forgot the pleasure.

Then he did something, some trick of Naamah's arts that made me gasp, and I had to pull away before I lost control. He remained where he was, against the wall as if bound there, gazing up at me. There was a look in his eyes that I loved to see, dark with desire and sparkling with joy at it, echoed by the tiniest smile curving his lips.

I pulled him to his feet and slid his shirt from his arms. "Lie down," I murmured, giving him a little push toward the bed. He went, settling himself on his stomach and resting his head on his hands, watching me.

I shrugged out of my own shirt, left my trousers on the floor and crossed the room. From the cabinet, I gathered the long strips of black cloth that we often used for restraints, and after a moment's pause, picked up the blindfold as well.

"What will you, my lord?" Michel asked softly, when I returned to the bed. I knelt on one knee beside him, gazing down at his back. The strong, graceful lines of his marque curved over his skin, lines sharp like knife-edges, and I traced one with my finger.

"Oh, I have somewhat in mind," I said, and swatted him lightly. "On your back, boy."

He obeyed, and paused, propped up on his elbows, when I held up the blindfold.

"Trust me, love," I reassured him with a smile, placing the cloth over his eyes.

"I do," he whispered, though his breath quickened as I tied it in place. When it was done, I bound his wrists and ankles to the bedposts, each with enough extra length to allow him a bit of movement. He made a lovely picture when I had finished: spread helpless and vulnerable, fair skin almost glowing against the dark silken bedclothes.

"Ah, my beautiful boy," I murmured, sliding slow fingers up his inner thigh. "I love to see you tied and helpless. With you bound like this, I imagine I can make you do anything I want." My voice turned more stern, and I dug my fingertips into his thigh, making him wince. "Can't I?"

"Yes, my lord," he breathed, then added, "...please..."

Elua! Such a small word, to set my blood to boiling! "Patience," I said, for the benefit of us both. I went back toward the flagellary cabinet and took up the candlestick that stood on the nearby table. The candle was white, and wide enough that the melted wax had pooled in a hollow beneath the wick. I carried it back to the bed, and sat down beside Michel. He looked almost at ease, no tension in his bound arms or legs... but his breathing was shallow, and I could see well enough that he was enjoying his predicament.

"Ah, my love," I said. My voice had gone low and rough. "Do you know what I am going to do to you?" I tested a bit of the melted wax on the back of my hand; it was hot, a lingering heat, but not unbearable.

Michel shook his head mutely. I leaned over him, letting him sense my presence. Then I lowered the candle and tipped it sideways, drizzling a bit of wax onto the tender skin of his stomach.

Whatever he'd been expecting of me, that was not it. He cried out in shock, and the muscles in his abdomen clenched reflexively, trying to pull away. I righted the candle and bent over him, blowing gently on the wax to cool it. It raised gooseflesh on his skin as I did so.

"Oh, gods," Michel moaned, shuddering. I grinned.

"Good, love. Again." I let a few more drops fall, closer to his side; slowly, the wax ran down the curve of his ribs until it cooled and hardened in place against his skin. He gasped, struggling in vain to squirm away from the heat at his side.

"Don't move, boy," I warned him. I let the next drizzle of wax pool into the hollow of his hip. He hissed through gritted teeth as a bit of it trickled down the crease of his thigh, beside his phallus. His body trembled, but he did not flinch.

"Very good," I breathed, and rewarded him by closing my mouth around his phallus. He cried out, startled again. "Oh, my lord, please-"

I toyed with him a while longer, alternating between the wax and the _languisement_ while he writhed helplessly in his bonds. I took mercy on him when he began to beg, and set the candle back in its holder.

Elua, he looked lovely and despoiled, his chest and stomach spattered with white wax as if I had spilled my seed across his body. I untied his blindfold, and he blinked up at me, cerulean eyes unfocused with desire.

I kissed him, sliding my tongue past his lips. He moaned as I plundered his mouth, and I slid my hand down his chest until my fingertips caught on a hardened line of wax. It lifted away from his skin without much difficulty, leaving a reddened mark behind it. I shifted down and kissed it; the mark was a line of heat against the center of my tongue, hotter than the skin beside it. It was a novel sensation, and I explored it further, making Michel moan as I traced the line with my tongue.

I looked up to find him watching me with his lips parted. "More?" I asked him, already moving to another spill of wax.

"Ye—es," he replied shakily. He clenched his fists in his bonds while I continued. I went slowly, removing each bit of wax and soothing the reddened skin beneath with lips and tongue. By the time I'd finished, desire was throbbing through me, nearly unbearable.

Michel shifted restlessly, impatiently, as I untied his ankles. Once freed, he wrapped his legs around my hips. I settled on my knees and slid oil-slickened fingers between us, inside him. He urged me on, before I thought he was ready. "Please, my lord, I need you," he breathed, when I hesitated. It was all the persuasion I needed. I fit myself against his entrance, and braced myself over him.

Ah, gods! It was like a homecoming, when I pressed into him. I _belonged_ there, in the haze of heat and passion and pleasure that encompassed our lovemaking. I filled him as deeply as I could, and Michel moaned, a long, low sound that sent a thrill down my spine. Suddenly desperate to feel his arms around me, I reached up and freed his wrists from their ties. He pulled me down for a kiss, a burning ardor lighting his gaze.

We made love for a long time, our bodies surging against each other. Both of us refrained from pushing each other quite to the brink, driven by an unspoken need to savor our passion. On the bed, bent over the pommel horse, against the wall, cross-legged on the floor... we took each other by turns, and we needed no words. Several of the candles had burnt themselves out, leaving the shadows long and dark, when at last we surrendered to each other. Straddling my hips, with one hand at the back of my neck and one entwined with mine around his phallus, Michel shuddered in my arms. "Raniel-" he gasped, tremors wracking his body. I gazed up at him, at the look of rapture on his face, and knew that I had never seen anything so beautiful. I felt the liquid heat of his seed spill against my chest, and let myself follow him. Ecstasy claimed me, filled my head with brilliant golden light, and I could do nothing but cling to him and cry out his name.

Gasping, I leaned my forehead against his collarbone, trying to catch my breath. He bent forward and kissed my hair. We stayed there for a long moment, until my pounding heart had subsided.

"I love you," Michel said softly. I leaned back against the bed so I could smile up at him. His hair was a tangled fall of curls, and I tucked it back so I could see those cerulean eyes I knew so well. They were dark with sated desire, and deep with the emotion that had once gone unspoken between us for so long.

"Ah, my beautiful boy," I breathed. "I love you, too."

His lips curved into a half-smile. "I turn nineteen next month, my lord. You won't always be able to call me a boy," he pointed out, teasing.

I raised my brows. "You're eight years younger than I, Michel. I shall be calling you _boy_ until we are both old and frail."

That made him laugh outright. Still grinning, he shifted to sit beside me, leaning on my shoulder. "I will not always be beautiful, either," he murmured. "Will you still love me when I am old and frail and my beauty has faded?"

Startled, I looked down into his eyes, so close to mine. "You will always be _you_, Michel," I told him solemnly, and though I had never thought of it until that moment, the words I spoke were as true and honest as any I had ever spoken. "_That_ is the beauty I love in you, that I will _always _love in you- the beauty of who you are, not what you look like."

Michel swallowed, hard, almost as if he were holding back tears. "I am who I am mostly because of you, Raniel," he whispered.

I could say the same thing of myself, and I told him so. "You have made me a better person, my love," I added.

His smile returned, and it was infectious. "Come, boy," I said, grinning down at him. I stood, pulling him to his feet, and then swept him into my arms. Surprised, he laughed breathlessly and wound his arms around my neck. I carried him out of the flagellary, and set him down next to the washbasin in the bedchamber. Quietly, we cleansed each other, washing away the sweat and seed of our shared passion. When we had finished, I opened the terrace doors to let in the summer night air, and put out the candles.

Michel was awaiting me when I returned to our bed, his skin gleaming and ethereal in the moonlight. I lay down beside him, intending to sleep... but I could not stop my hands from touching him. I traced invisible lines over his skin with my fingertips, watching his nipples harden, his phallus stiffen, his breathing grow unsteady. I leaned over him and kissed him, slowly and thoroughly, feeling my own desire returning. When at last I lifted my head, he caught a handful of my hair, unwilling to let me get farther away. I gazed down at him, filled again- still- with the overwhelming sense of joy and love that had permeated this perfect day.

I reached up and grasped his wrist, pulled it down and pinned it to the bed. Michel's lips curved in his sweet smile, surrendering. I smiled back, the dangerous smile that I knew would make his heart race. And then, in the moonlight and the shadows, we began again.


End file.
